Ben Challum

Beinn Challum summit

Wednesday, 30 October, 2024

Ascent:         1035 metres

Distance:      14 kilometres

Time:           4 hours 18 minutes

South top            998m    2hrs 13mins

Ben Challum.     1025m  2hrs 29mins

Ben Challum is one of those hills that is easily forgotten, I had usually climbed it with Creag Mhor and sometimes included Beinn Sheasgarnach or the nearby Corbetts. It must be one of the only Munros not on the blog, I last climbed it at the start of my fifth round before I retired and started the blog. Mark had suggested it as the first Munro on my fifth round and after we climbed Creag Mhor as well, he cautioned me against climbing Beinn Sheasgarnach as well on the basis that it might lead to me attempting a quicker round than the 80 days taken for the fourth round. 

Today, it was just Ben Challum from Kirkton Farm. I started early and intended to be down the hill in time to listen to the budget. The weather oscillated between fog and blue skies as I travelled up and parked at an empty layby on the A82 to walk over the River Fillan to Kirkton Farm. This is part of the West Highland Way and it was highly unusual to see no walkers on the WHW. The path to Ben Challum circles the farm and heads up an old track past a cemetery to cross the Fort William railway line.

It steepens and runs alongside a plantation of pines the fence keeps out the deer and provides the route of the path. The path was extremely wet, some sections were 10 centimetres deep in water with odd fence posts scattered on the bog to prevent that sinking feeling. It was a slow plod and the fine views visible lower down gave way to a hill fog that persisted to the summit.  Above 700 metres, a cold wind was blowing from the northwest so I put on a jacket and dug out some gloves for the final steep ramp to the 995m top and then the ridge to the summit. There was little to stir the imagination other than another tick on the list and the possibility that the hill fog may disappear by the summit.

There was no such luck. I had little recall of the final narrow ridge between the top and a final climb to the summit.  It is quite a barren summit and the cairn was looking partly wrecked and needed a bit of rebuilding before I began the descent. I passed a couple on their ascent, they thanked me for my footprints that had guided them over the boggy sections. There was little to see on the descent because of the fog and lower down the landscape had no intrinsic attraction nor was there any wildlife before reaching the railway line where a flock of small birds were feeding on the rowan trees. 

I was down just after 1pm and listened to the Chancellor's speech on the way home. After Rachel Reeves ranted about the mess and unfunded projects left by the previous government and a slew of taxes to plug the funding gap, she segued into an impressive list of investments she would be making funded by a change in the borrowing rules. There was no contriteness about the impact on the impact of her decision to take away the winter fuel payments for the lower-income elderly and disabled, or the impact of increasing employers' National Insurance contributions on jobs. It was no surprise that like most recent chancellors she focussed on centralised taxation and sought the kudos of local spending priorities. It is one of the key reasons why governments fail to garner momentum for growth or reverse the decline of public services. 

Rishi Sunak was making his final speech as Tory leader and gave a full-throttle response that must have made the Tory benches ask why they were having a leadership election. He was selective in his evidence and too anxious to have Hansard publish an upbeat abstract of his legacy. It was fair as Rachel Reeves had played the same game. The budget and the arguments from the opposition were like climbing Ben Challum: boring, foggy and bogged down in a mess.

Fort William line, Ben Lui in distance

Cloud over the Crianlarich Munros

The path along the fence

Regenerative planting

 

Place Fell, Lakes

Place Fell

Friday, 25 October, 2024

Ascent:         538 metres
Distance:      7 kilometres
Time:            1 hour 46 minutes

Place Fell        657m     58mins

After three days of visiting my childhood territories and spending time with my sister and brother, I headed home. I have always found it hard not to visit the Lake District on the journey between Lancashire and Scotland. I had suffered a back spasm the previous week and had not exercised for a week apart from a fast promenade along the Lytham waterfront yesterday. I scanned the map for a hill that would not be too taxing. Place Fell is an impressive hill overlooking Ullswater and the hamlet of Rooking. I had yet to climb it on the latest Wainwright round. It looked a perfect fit, although driving up the M6 in the grey clouds made me doubtful. I had not climbed Place Fell since the Karrimor (OMM) International Mountain Marathon in 1992, it was towards the end of a long day and I don't recall much about it.

Despite being in the game of buying a bike, I gave the enticing cycle shop in Stavely a miss and drove through Troutbeck and down the Kirkstone Pass to Patterdale where I found a large parking area managed by the hotel. It was noon as I began the walk on a mild autumn day, Place Fell was circled by a halo of blue skies although Helvellyn and the hills to the south were enveloped in clouds that seemed to be heading north towards me. I set myself a steady pace on the road to Rooking passing a family of three and a woman escorting her elderly mother on the steep path that starts from Rooking and is signposted to Boredale Hause and Angle Tarn. 

The path climbs steadily with stone steps through the bracken. It gives good views back to Ullswater and the Helvellyn range and a direct view to the sombre-looking Brothers Water and Kirkstone Pass. There was no back pain and apart from a couple of photo halts, no pace dropping, and I was at Boredale Hause within 30 minutes. Two girls of about twenty were on their descent from Angletarn Pikes and encouraged me to go there but I had climbed them a couple of months ago so I hooked to the left to start the steep climb to Place Fell. It is a good path with a 260-metre ascent to be made, a steeper section below Round How and then a half kilometre across a flattish ridge to the rocky summit of Place Fell. The guidebook had said 1 hour 35 minutes for the ascent but I was up in less than the hour. 

I had entered the clouds at about 500 metres and stopped to put on a jacket. I was hoping the clouds would disperse and they did for a fleeting few seconds just after I reached the beautifully constructed trig point that sits erect on a rocky plinth. I ate an orange and drank some water hoping that the clouds would break but no luck today, it was retribution for all the sun-kissed days of September.

I began the descent and bumped into three men nearing the summit, I had passed them on the way up. They asked where I was from and on telling them Scotland they said I didn't sound as if I did. They were from Preston and I discovered that the father of one of them had been brought up on the same estate as myself. The coincidence continued when he told me he had bought a £3000 bike at the Ribble Bike shop in Clitheroe the day before. I had been there two days ago but had yet to decide whether to buy the bike I had been measured for,  it certainly wouldn't be as pricey as his. Another five minutes further on the descent I met a family from Stockport whom I had passed on the track to Rooking. They wanted a break from the climb and regaled me with their recent trip to Scotland with stops on Skye and Stirling. They had been mesmerised and intended to go again next year. I recommended some places for their next trip before I finally extricated myself and began to run down the path to catch up on time. 

As I emerged from the cloud below Round How another couple appeared, I had spoken to the man earlier as he was struggling to get the car park payment machine to work. He was a farmer from Hexham and on hearing I was from Stirling told me his family had originated from Stirling. His wife prolonged the conversation as we discussed the felled sycamore tree on Hadrian's wall, Alnmouth, Armstrong's Cragside House and climbing the Wainwright's. This was the fifth Wainwright they were climbing and they had recently made it a mission to climb them all. They were surprised that I had climbed them all and began to ask questions. I showed them a route down Place Fell to the north and encouraged them to take this and walk Wainwright's favourite path alongside the shores of Ullswater back to Rooking. The conversation was endless and I half expected to be invited for a weekend in Hexham. Place Fell was shedding its cloud cover so I encouraged them to see it in all its glory so that I could escape. 

I had lost 35 minutes to these enjoyable conversations during the descent so I ran most of the way down to Rooking where I paused to take a photo of a glorious Lakeland house decorated with a couple of pumpkins. It was almost 3pm, I changed my shoes and began the journey home. I was delighted to tune in to a 5 Live discussion with Helen Lewis and Armando Iannucci, both wonderful raconteurs, on the meaning or non-meaning of political words and phrases. I reached Hamilton before five and stopped to buy some provisions when the car computer told me to take a rest. The rain and darkness had fallen by the time I continued. Another interesting day had been hewn out of what could have been a tedious journey home. 

Path to Boredale Hause, looking back to Patterdale

Helvellyn view

The final romp to Pace Fell

Perfectly built Trig Point

On the descent

Looking to Boredale Hause from Rooking

Rooking Lakeland House

Lytham and Ribble

Lytham Promenade

Ribble Gravel Bike

I decided to visit my sister and brother, the first time I had been to my home town(city) this year. I intended to visit the Ribble Bike emporium that had started life in Preston but had moved to Clitheroe where a well-equipped shop had all the bikes on display and facilities to measure you for a new bike. I also had a yearning to visit Lytham where I had spent many a day as a toddler when my parents cycled there on the family tandem with me strapped into a rear metal caged seat.

The first evening, I spent time with my brother-in-law at the local cricket club while my sister was at a Pilates class. The beer was from a microbrewery in St Helens called Howzat. Not out; it was an excellent pale ale, and we stayed for a second innings.

The next morning, I drove to Clitheroe, a charming town in the Ribble Valley that is the headquarters of the Ribble Valley Council. It boasts a healthy town centre, fine sandstone buildings, and a well-heeled population. The Bike shop was a couple of miles away in a new commercial centre next to furniture showrooms, fast food outlets, and Screwfix. I spent half an hour drooling over the complete range of bikes before an assistant could measure me for a bike and help me consider the options. 

Was it to be a CGR bike (Cross, Gravel, Road) or a Gravel bike? An aluminium, steel, titanium or carbon frame and what groupset? Did I want an electric bike? It used to be a lot easier to choose a bike in the 1960s - a Dawes, Claud Butler, Holdsworth or Mercian frame ideally with 10 Campag gears, Mavic wheels, Werinmann brakes, Stronglight chainset, Christophe toe clips and a Brookes saddle. All for £21 for a Dawes and up to £30 for a Holdsworth.  The price range at Ribble Bikes was from £1099 to £7000 and Ribble is supposedly among the best value bikes. 

Whilst looking at the bikes and waiting for the assistant I chatted to another customer who lived in Derbyshire but was Scottish. He was green with envy when he heard that I had lived near Aberfoyle for 36 years, he referred to it as Gravelfoyle, one of the best places in the UK for trail riding. He convinced me to get a Gravel Bike and encouraged me to spend as much as possible because Ribble bikes were excellent value. He had brought his friend to the shop who was being measured for his bike as we spoke. I still have to decide which Gravel bike, both carbon and titanium are lighter and more expensive, steel had been my first choice but I am currently thinking of aluminium with a better groupset. I would have liked to choose the colour but that cost an extra  £350. That would have bought 12  Holdsworths back in the day. 

On leaving the Bike Shop, I decided to visit my brother who had just returned from a ten-week tour of northern Europe from France to Denmark, up the Norwegian Coast to the Arctic Circle and back via Sweden, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Slovakia, Austria, Germany, Holland, Belgium and France. I drove from Clitheroe by the less travelled roads to the Ribble and Hodder valleys, taking in places that had been the backdrop to my early years. I had gone trout fishing on the River Hodder, walked along the frozen River Ribble in the deep-frozen winter of 1962, cycled around the Trough of Bowland, written a university geology dissertation on the area, and raced half marathons and 10k races during my running days. It was a trip down memory country lanes. I crossed the river Loud where I had camped for the first time with my dad as an 8-year-old and where my parents had their Ruby Wedding celebrations in the hotel. I  spent the afternoon with my brother and invited everyone for an evening meal at Great Eccleston. It was close to the market garden where my father cycled 15 miles to work every day after leaving school before he joined the army and spent the war years in Africa, Greece and Italy with the Eighth Army.

The following day I persuaded my sister and her husband to make a trip to Lytham, the salubrious residential town facing Southport on the other side of the mud flats of the Ribble estuary. As a youngster, I had spent many summer days here when my parents would cycle out on the tandem and where I would play in the paddling pools, admire the windmill, and discover ice cream. It was a fine but breezy day, the tide was out and the mud flats were no more appealing than yesteryear, nor had Southport got any nearer. 

Blackpool is only 5 miles away but is socially and economically more distant. It has declined from the UK's top holiday resort with a wealthy, rapacious business community to a tumbleweed seaside town with the highest level of deprivation in England. It is a sad reminder of the days when the pleasure beach, donkeys on the sand, saucy postcards, and sticks of rock made a holiday. Only the trams, the tower, and the annual Strictly pilgrimage maintain any sense of pride today. 

Unlike Lytham, where the well-maintained and busy 5-mile promenade along the shore to Fairhaven and St Anne's was alive with dogs and their elderly owners, the centre of Lytham was buzzing with baby boomers bursting the capacity of busy cafes. My sister was welcomed by an Italian cafe owner with the brio that Italians are famous for, and we had an excellent late lunch. 

Returning to Preston, I became perplexed by the numerous new housing developments and a road network that baffled me and Google Satnav. The logical morphology of a twentieth-century town has been exploded by thousands of new houses and the school catchments have about as much logic as most social media posts. It was time to return to the simple logical geography of the part of Scotland where I am fortunate enough to live. 

Lytham, then @ 5

Lytham, now @ >5, with sister

Lytham Windmill

Ribble Estuary and Southport if you put your specs on

Spitfire at Fairhaven

Mute Shadow

Ribble Estuary and some timeless Beach Art

 

Time for a devolved democratic budget

The countdown to Rachel Reeves's budget is reaching a fever pitch of despair from the government and opposition benches. There is a sense that we will get more of the same permutations of taxes and spending cuts that have been a major reason for the poor performance of the UK compared to other nations over much of the past 45 years. 

The media obsession with tax increases, unfunded projects and the NHS has dominated the airwaves and plays into the belief that these are the metrics to be examined when the chancellor delivers her budget on 30 October. They are missing the real issue, the government's model for budgeting is fundamentally flawed. It is failing to devolve budgets to those who have the knowledge, the contact with their customers and the willingness to innovate and work in partnership and at a pace that gets things done. We need a more devolved inclusive and locally accountable budget process. A step change on par with what Keynes advised and Attlee introduced following his landslide election victory of 1945.

The UK government's derisory budget management stems from what Mrs Thatcher saw as too much public spending and the profligacy of councils and other public bodies in delivering public services. She introduced the tendering of public services, the sale of council houses, the privatisation of many state-run services and reduced public expenditure. She centralised many local democratic services to be run by government departments and agencies. They in turn were told to contract out these services to private outsourcing companies. She also abolished the GLC, Metropolitan Councils and John Major extended this spree of abolitions to Scotland by reorganising local government in Scotland to eliminate most of the regional councils.

This was followed by John Major's introduction of Private Finance Initiatives, later to become Public Private Partnerships. These mechanisms to remove capital expenditure from government spending were embraced by Blair and Brown who were equally wedded to centralisation. By these mechanisms, central government effectively defenestrated local government and replaced it with an ill-considered collective of rapacious multi-service outsourcing companies that are now the operators of what used to be public services. Once ensconced in this role they have used their claim of greater efficiency and near monopoly position to ramp up costs and maximise profits. 

Evidence from various audits shows that the quality of service has often diminished and costs have escalated in many of these services. In some instances, massive profits have been taken and companies have subsequently been bankrupted by the debt they have taken on. When this happens the risk reverts to the government which has had to either bail out 'too big to fail' companies by allowing them to win more contracts or to take services back into public control. Notable examples include probation services, rail franchises and some academy schools. The outcome of these failures has been a double jeopardy for the government and more importantly for those dependent on these critical services. It is one of the tragedies of the last forty years but has escaped detailed examination because of the lack of transparency about the way an ever-increasing swathe of public services has been centralised, privatised and gutted from any form of democratic accountability. 

The expectation is that Rachel Reeves will allow the Treasury to impose another round of budgetary control that reinforces the trend of removing democratic control at both the local and national levels. The Treasury has little confidence in other Whitehall departments to reconfigure services other than by the simple expedient of controlling the size of the budget and telling them to find efficiencies. 

They do not recognise that one of the reasons public expenditure has exploded is not the profligacy of councils or other accountable bodies, who generally keep within budgets and who were normally prudent in the control of public expenditure before compulsory tendering of services. The contracting out of services and the insistence of PFI and PPP for capital investment have transferred much of the operation of public services to multi-service outsourcing conglomerates. They compete in a restrictive market that largely excludes local companies that cannot bear the cost of complex tendering procedures. Having won the contracts they have been able to escalate prices as the contracts were often far from watertight and councils and local companies have lost the capacity and expertise to win back contracts.  

Rachel Reeves should be divesting the management and procurement of these outsourced services from centralised Whitehall departments to the regions and councils. There is evidence that this is having some benefits where Metro Mayors have been trusted to take back control. They are far better positioned, as are Councils to specify appropriate service level agreements and to encourage local companies to deliver services according to needs, not some generalised specification that takes no cognisance of local circumstances and priorities. Massive outsourcing service companies like G4S, Capital, and Serco, which have become so dominant, cannot be allowed to be the justification for centralised government budgeting. 

At the core of a more effective model of government budgeting is an understanding that the specification of services is best done with an understanding of local knowledge and priorities. Local democratic bodies and local businesses have been victims of untrammelled centralisation. Innovation and adoption of new technologies are seldom implemented successfully by overly complex government initiatives. The way for the Starmer/Reeves government to achieve growth is by befriending and trusting local democratic bodies to deliver the services and infrastructure. Devolving budgeting in this way would accelerate the mission of growth and ensure it is more than another mantra.

Podcasts: The Rest is Politics US

Two years ago, podcasts were an unknown medium to me. Today, I listen to more podcasts than I watch television. I began with the odd football podcast then discovered specialist ones that covered topics on the environment, politics and world affairs. These subjects are only cursorily dealt with by news programmes that are bloated with the affairs of celebrities. I then discovered the-rest-is-politics with Rory Stewart and Alistair Campbell, two political thinkers who have an incredible knowledge of the world as well as UK politics. They also tap into their network of contacts of eminent leaders from politics to AI for in-depth interviews on the leading podcast. Although Campbell and Stewart had been at the heart of the Blair/Brown and Cameron/May governments respectively, they paired up and discovered that they agreed on many issues, and if not they would disagree agreeably. What a game changer from the Punch and Judy politics served by Parliament and fired at us by many of our newspapers and much of our social media.

I have just listened to the latest episode of the sister podcast by Katty Kay and Anthony Scaramucci, the rest is politics US, which captivated my interest. As always it provides a ringside commentary on the flaws, fantasies and fortunes of the two polar opposite candidates in the American Presidential Election. It pitches an intelligent, humane black woman against a rich, misogynist, non-apologist white man. Despite Scaramucci being a lifelong Republican, and Kay being brought up in the BBC balanced reporting code, there is no doubt which of the candidates they don't want to win. They have just completed a UK tour of Birmingham, Glasgow, Cardiff and London debating the issues and answering questions. They attracted an audience of 13,000 at an event in the O2 arena in London.  They are a compelling listen and have deep insights into the American Presidential election campaign. It was a stroke of genius to bring these two exceptional characters together. 

Katty Kay with her cut-glass English accent and Swiss citizenship has lived and worked in the United States for 30 years as a journalist with the BBC but with far more strings to her impressive career. Her knowledge and network of contacts in American politics are wide and close to the candidates. She curates and reports their comments in an articulate and disciplined manner. She has encyclopedic inside knowledge of the election process having covered the last six Presidential elections. 

Anthony Scaramucci is a financier who famously became Donald Trump's Director of Communications when he became president but lasted only 10 days before resigning in despair at Trump's self-absorbed chaotic style of governing. Scaramucci comes from a New York Italian background and has a colourful way with words. His analysis is strewn with a zinging vocabulary and a minestrone of metaphors. It ensures a lively dialogue with the word-perfect explanations of Katty Kay. Their chemistry is potent, Scaramucci is clearly enthralled by Kay's intelligence and posh English breeding. Like Rory Stewart and Alistair Campbell, who invited them to do the US version of 'the rest is politics', they listen to each other's views and have adopted the maxim to disagree agreeably, which is not that often.

They also know how to engage and ensnare their audiences. Scaramucci confesses that the weeklong tour of UK cities was the most flattering and inspiring thing he had ever done in his rollercoaster of a career. Katty Kay was greatly touched by the enthusiasm of UK audiences and their granular knowledge of American Politics. As the day of reckoning approaches, this is the podcast to listen to. It is much better informed and entertaining than the alternative podcasts focusing on the American Presidential Election. The News Agents podcast with ex-BBC presenters, Emily Mattis and  John Sopel, and the BBC Americast podcast with the BBC ex and present Washington correspondents, Justin Webb and Sarah Smith were my goto ways of keeping abreast with American podcasts but they seem a bit lame by comparison.

Katty Kay is on the ball when she describes the election as causing global trepidation. Polls are predicting that Trump is 16% ahead of Harris with American men. I'm with the women and Katty and Anthony but Trump may have tuned into the zeitgeist of the American voters.

A grand day out in Edinburgh and the Scottish Parliament.

It was a 7:15am start to catch the train to Edinburgh for a meeting in the Scottish Parliament. It is quite a long time since I last joined the throng of commuters and even longer since I had attended meetings in the Scottish Parliament. I was anxious about being invited to give evidence to the Committee examining local government finance. We had submitted a paper to the Committee that focussed more on the need for a radical reset of the governance of Scotland's public services. Finance was only part of the problem.

The reform of local government in 1996, austerity and the cumulative centralisation of public services by successive Scottish Governments have emasculated Councils. Their ability to tackle local priorities, engage with their communities, tap into local knowledge, develop networks with local businesses and nurture the energy and goodwill of communities had been steadily eroded in the 25 years since the formation of the Scottish Parliament. 

Approval ratings and voter turnout for councils have plummeted and trust in Councils is only slightly better than the Scottish Government, 38% against 32%, according to the Scottish Household Survey. Yet Councils are more likely to deliver appropriate progressive solutions and innovations in their localities than central government which is too remote and less qualified to manage services. Councils are essential players in tackling issues like social care, climate change, poverty, economic growth and generally improving the common weal. Our message is that councils should be seen as friends of the government, not as a miscreant form of local administration.

My colleague and I felt a bit like dinosaurs amidst the younger MSPs and civil servants who gave us time and respect as we peddled the experience and knowledge from our lived experience. We were younger than that then and, maybe, wiser than that now.  If you've a couple of hours to spare you can check the video of the meeting here.

Bill and I sauntered back to Waverley station and had a coffee in the Fruitmarket cafe before his train left for the dark side of Edinburgh, Livingstone. I was free and feeling easy, there was an exhibition of Ibrahim Mahama, songs about roses in the the adjoining warehouse space. I was lured in by the massive photos of the work gangs building railways in what was the Gold Coast Colonial Railway. These were two subjects close to my heart. I had always loved the stupendous engineering of railways, the sight, sound, smell and touch of steam locomotives remain evocative memories of skipping around engine sheds and watching steam locomotives when I was growing up. 

A large picture of a diesel locomotive made for the Gold Coast Railway by English Electric in Preston conjured up fond memories of my teenage years. I became friends with a Ghanaian woman who was the first black person to live on the housing estate where we lived. Her husband was a graduate engineer and he had come to the UK to work for English Electric, now British Aerospace. They had been allocated a council house in the days when companies had agreements with councils for housing key workers. She had an elegance and intelligence that were compelling but none of the other mothers in the neighbourhood would speak to her. I was chastised by neighbours for spending time talking to her, she would stop and talk to me when walking to the shops with her baby. I occasionally babysat for her and learnt not only about Ghana and her philosophy of life but also witnessed her experience of isolation as an immigrant mother to the UK in the 1960s. When I went to university she gave me the best advice of anyone, 'just be yourself and you will do well in life'. 

I love the occasions when you have time and no plan. As I left the exhibition I headed up the steps of Fleshmarket Close, a magic tuntaway (a secret passage) into the innards of Old Edinburgh. I was meandering along the High Street when it occurred to me that I could go and look at some gravel bikes that I had been encouraged to buy following a recent hillwalking event and Edinburgh has lots of bike shops. Even better, I could phone my friend Neil, who's been heavily into cycling since we used to ride to school together on his Dad's tandem. There was no reply so I set off to find the bike cooperative, Neil returned my call twenty minutes later, he had been exercising on his turbo trainer. I was given the bus numbers to catch to his house in Dalry and we could go for a late lunch. 

Princess Street was buzzing with visitors and when the number 4 hurtled past me I chased it to the next bus stop but by the time I had weaved my way through the luggage of the tourists and reached the door of the bus, I was a second too late. The next bus would be in 9 minutes said the electronic notice in the shelter. After 7 minutes the bus disappeared off the screen into Edinburgh's Bermuda Triangle of missing buses, the next one was allegedly 8 minutes away. A constant stream of empty trams sidled past more or less bereft of passengers. Edinburgh trams never go anywhere you want to go and unless you live in Edinburgh the bus pass doesn't work on them despite the whole of Scotland paying for this expensive white elephant. Meanwhile, all the buses are crammed because they have really useful routes and destinations.

Neil suggested we go to the Athletic Arms (the Diggers), his nearest pub for a couple of pints. It is one of those institutions that specialises in real beers, has over 500 whiskies on sale and provides the staples of a good pub - basic food, darts, a snug room, sport on TV and a happy and regular clientele. They also have a £3 ale of the day and today it was 'As You Like It', a hoppy pale ale. We talked about old friends and families, bikes and cycling, sheds and politics. Neil advised me against a gravel bike and before we went to the pub showed me his two oldish mountain bikes, which he thought were more robust than gravel bikes, he also has a couple of road bikes and a tandem in his excellent and sustainable uhut shed. Neil is not convinced about the need for disc brakes, they are just another unnecessary complication like electronic gear changers. Upgrading my mountain bike was his solution. Asking for advice on a new bike is perplexing.  John told me to get an electric bike, most of the friends in his cycling group have now switched to them. My original advice was to buy a gravel bike, which would be a lot lighter and more versatile for road and touring than a road or mountain bike. Three friends and three different solutions!? 

It was after 4pm and time to get back to the station for my train. I ran for a bus and made Haymarket in good time. The man who sat next to me on the train was on his phone and sounded interesting. When he finished I struck up a conversation with him, he was a manager with Forestry Enterprise and we had half an hour chatting about Scottish Forestry. We shared a love of the Caledonian Pine Forst in Glen Affric and the Torridonian Mountains. I learnt why beech and sycamore weren't planted in Scotland and why good timbers like Ash and Larch were no longer planted. Norway Spruce still dominated the market because it was whiter than Scots Pine, which was darker and mainly used in structural stud work. Almost 80% of UK timber was imported mainly from Scandinavian countries. We could not compete with France or the United States for Oak because they grew them on good quality soils, timber in Britain grew less rapidly and in poorer soils. He also explained how they acquired additional low value land to plant trees like birch and rowan to ensure that they hit their performance targets for native species. We could have kept talking all the way to Inverness. 

It had been a grand day out and I received a message from a friend upon arriving home. As well as a thank you for gifting my Tubular Bells album to his grandson there was a compliment about our evidence to the Committee. "Watched your appearance in Parliament. Both you and Bill spoke compellingly. I quite take your point about the persistent centralisation of decision-making and the imposition by one tier of governance upon another."

In full flow

Building the Gold Coast Colonial Railway

Coincidence of childhood memories

Fleshmarket Close

Diggers with pints of As You Like It