Look what the cat dragged in
Managed to rescue this little guy from one of our cats. He was looking better just a few minutes later, so hopefully I got him out in time.
The company you keep
I had a day of good companionship and interesting conversations. Some of these encounters were planned, others unexpected. Along the way, some rather exciting projects moved along in a rather exciting fashion, some new ideas were formed, some laughs were had, and some good work got done.
But it was a surprise dog that set the tone for the day. I was going for my morning hike, which has become a bit of a habit for me. It involves an early start, an audiobook, a flask of coffee and a series of parks and trails that will usually take me four or five miles with a break about halfway. And today, this dog joined me.
There’s something really nice about walking with a dog. I don’t mean “walking a dog”. Walking with a dog. There’s a difference. We didn’t talk much, but we were headed in the same direction so we wandered together. And when we were no longer going the same way, we parted company. We may meet again and walk, and we may not – though I hope we do.
But I also noticed that I enjoyed being with the people I spent time with today in much the same way that I’d enjoyed the company of that dog. We happened, metaphorically speaking, to be travelling along the same path at the same time and so we chose to do so in each other’s company.
And that seems like a good way to be. Even with people. Possibly even especially.
So this guy walks into a bard
It’s worth pointing out up front that the man in the picture is not looking at me like that because I made the pun in the title of this post out loud in his presence. And nor, I suspect, is he sad because Shakespeare is dead (though that’s the grave right there). That’s actually just what he looks like.
I decided to go for a walk this morning to shake the cobwebs loose and get the writing juices flowing (not that I had actual cobwebs or secrete actual juices – some metaphors should not be thought about at length).
I strolled off in a familiar direction and found myself once again down at Trittiford Mill Pond, which I like because it’s a good distance away, is reasonably pretty and contains a heron that I’ve seen each time I’ve visited but have as yet been unable to take a halfway decent picture of. And still no joy on that front.
As I was on a bit of a roll, instead of circling the pond and heading back, I crossed the road and made my way into The Dingles for a further hike. And for the record, English parkland needs cooler names. There’s nothing intrepid and adventuresome about ‘The Dingles’, no matter how rugged the terrain (not very, actually).
But before I get too far along that path, I think to myself ‘Just over there is the Yardley Wood rail station. That line goes straight to Stratford-Upon-Avon. It’s been ages since I’ve been to Stratford.’
And since I couldn’t think of a good reason not to, ten minutes later I was on a train to the home of Shakespeare.
I had my laptop in my backpack and coffee in my flask, and with those two important ingredients, managed to get a bit of writing done on the way down. Wait – is coffee ‘writing juice’?
The trip was worthwhile for the journey alone. Spring is really starting to kick in here in the Midlands. Not only was there a good amount of green to be seen, but the countryside was also full of baby animals: lambs, foals, kids (baby goats, I mean), and I even saw a baby deer standing in a meadow, close to the railway tracks. The train driver slowed right down especially, I think so as not to frighten it. Really.
Even so, I was not quick enough to take a picture. Wildlife cameraphone photography apparently not my strong suit.
I had no particular agenda upon arrival, so I simply strolled along the historic streets, beside the famous river and around in a lazy circle about the small town. Took a couple of photos of buildings because they stand still for you. This one’s the home of the Royal Shakespeare Company.
Along the way, I encountered swarms of young French tourists (a school trip, I guessed) and elderly American ones. I was queried by local high school students out doing a survey of tourists for a class project about how I rated the various aspects of the city’s features on a scale of one to five, though as the pair seemed incredibly uncertain whether 5 was excellent or terrible, I stayed with a safe 3 for everything.
And I visited the grave of Shakespeare, which I had not done before. It was both impressive and disappointing, for reasons I can’t quite put into words. There was altogether too much religious pomp and symbolism associated with the site (though, yes, it was a church) which made it seem that he had perhaps been sainted – a part of his biography I was not familiar with. And his grave was adjacent a bunch of other people’s associated by marriage and profession, which seemed to downplay his accomplishments somewhat.
It seemed altogether fitting that he should be lain beside his wife. Less so that other members of his extended family should get the same stately treatment. And the fact that there were a couple of other writers right next door seemed – I don’t know – disrespectful.
Still, the guy’s dead. He’s not fussed. And he’s still providing reasons for elderly gentlemen to have employment explaining things to visitors, keeps the local florists in a roaring trade and provides local schools with a tenuous basis for activities to send their students out into the streets with clipboards and give the teachers a bit of a break.
I didn’t stay long in Stratford. Long enough for a bite to eat and a couple of circuits of the high street – and enough time to change my mind about buying a lovely but overpriced volume of sonnets from the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust.
But I probably ended up writing more of my journal article than I would have had I just headed back home from the mill pond. I don’t know if I was inspired by the bard, energised by the extra hiking or whether there’s just something about going places on trains, but I typed more useful words than I usually manage in a morning, so that was helpful.
I kept an eye out for that deer on the way back, iPhone at the ready, just in case – but it had moved on. This picture of the silhouette of a duck was about as good as it got.
Same place, different neighbourhood
I went for a walk near my house today. Hardly blogworthy news, but I mention it for a couple of reasons.
The first is that I’m only really starting to discover the extent to which Birmingham is actually green. I always think of this as a road-intensive place. Birmingham, more than most cities, prioritises the car (which is why so many people have only ever driven through, rather than visited our fair city) – but behind most of the roads, park land has been cunningly hidden.
It’s not just parks either, though there are certainly a lot of those. Get onto the canal towpaths and you’re so isolated from the main roads that you could fool yourself into thinking that you’re in the countryside.
And there are some unexpected gems. I was strolling along the Birmingham-Stratford canal, heading South – and there was a small gate to my left that simply said “Warwickshire Wildlife Reserve”. The reserve was a remarkably small patch of land, but it did what it said on the tin: it was a space that was reserved for wildlife. We’re allowed to visit, sure, but it’s not ours. I kind of like that idea.
As wildlife goes, of course, the English variety is archetypal in its understated modesty. You might see a heron (I did). You will not see a lion or a bear. Even so (or perhaps, as a result) a wildlife reserve is a perfectly wonderful place to think, reflect, breathe and drink coffee.
The second reason I mention that I went for this particular walk is that I’ve started to alter the way I think about the concepts of map and terrain, and that really came home for me today.
Until quite recently, I used to think of roads and paths as methods of getting from one place to another. Lines that joined points of origin and destinations.
Today I really began to look at those lines as places to be in themselves. Not “it’s about the journey” but, more interestingly, that the route can be a perfectly good destination in and of itself.
Both physically and psychologically, the place I went today was a path.
‘Finding yourself’ on mountain tops and other cliches
I went away for Easter weekend. Needed to get out of town for a bit, clear my head and so on. As you do. Also, I’d never been to the Lake District, and I’d heard it’s beautiful.
I went for hikes. One of them took me to the top of a mountain. The highest peak in England, in fact: Scafell Pike. I must be the only person I know who can accidentally go mountain climbing.
I parked the car, and started to stroll. There were no signs in particular, but there was a trail and so I followed it. It joined another one, and there were several people walking up that same hill, so I followed the pack. Before long, there was snow and it got rockier, steeper and increasingly cold.
Cut a long story short, despite seriously considering turning back a few times, I eventually (nearly 5 hours later) found myself at the summit, which felt like quite an achievement. It’s not mountain climbing in the traditional sense of the term, but it was certainly the longest, steepest, toughest and most treacherous walk I’ve ever been on.
The way down was somehow almost more difficult. Slippery. Tricky. Hard on the knees. But gravity sort of ensures that you eventually get down. And there was a roast dinner at the end of the trail.
As you’d probably expect, given that I was as high up as it was possible to be in England without being in an aircraft, and in the Lake District at the same time, the views were pretty spectacular.
I also saw some nice scenery from the ground – and the water too.
Since it was the Lake District, I thought it was also a good idea to get out on a lake, so I did the Windermere Lake walker’s route.
From Brockhole to Ambleside by boat, a ferry to Wray Castle, then a 4 mile lakeside hike to the next ferry to Bowness, and another boat back to Brockhole, which is another 2 mile walk back to where I was staying.
My feet hurt, and I’m exhausted, but totally worthwhile. All the photos are here on Flickr.
The alibi
I’ve always liked going for walks. It’s a nice thing to do. Recently, I’ve graduated to the kind of walking more usually described as “hiking” (otherwise known as “rambling” here in the UK, or “tramping” back in NZ).
The difference, I’m led to understand, has to do with distance, terrain and scenery – but the core principle of putting one foot in front of the other remains. I did a bit when I was over in California, and kind of fell in love with it.
Mind you, the scenery of Pinnacles and Joshua Tree National Parks sort of raise the stakes somewhat. There isn’t quite the same awe-inspiring pull here in South Birmingham – but there are certainly some pretty bits – especially when it’s all covered in a deep blanket of white.
I’d been stuck inside because of this weather we’ve been having the past few days, so I thought I’d brave the elements and go for a walk in the local park. I wrapped up warm, grabbed my camera and went out into the snow.
The Flickr set’s here, if you want to see the pictures I took.
I made it about halfway through Highbury Park, when I noticed that the only reason anyone else was outside was that they had children or dogs. Both need to be exercised regardless of the weather or they’ll just drive you nuts. So I popped around to my friend Sam’s house and borrowed Laika (above). She is both addicted to and entirely obsessive about chasing a tennis ball, and will take any opportunity to do so. So we went to the woods at the top end of Cannon Hill Park and did exactly that.
I threw, she retrieved. I walked, she ran. We stopped and chatted to other dog people. We hunted for lost tennis balls in the deep snow. Repeatedly.
It was, despite the temperature and the ankle-deep snow, a thoroughly lovely excursion that filled a couple of hours on a Sunday and got me out of the house for some much-needed fresh air.
And thanks to Laika, it looked like I was doing so with purpose, rather than – as had previously been the case – like some lost loon who’d strayed from the pub and couldn’t find his way back.
Pro tip: Borrow a dog.
I'm the Director of MTF Labs, a Senior Researcher at the Industry Commons Foundation, advisor to ArtEO and founder of New Music Strategies.
I'm an author of books about technology, culture, music and radio. I'm also an award-winning broadcaster and filmmaker, a public speaker and lecturer, record producer and festival director. I am closely following developments in emerging technologies and the cultures and ethics surrounding them, and my projects typically focus on issues of justice, inclusion, and sustainability.
Most of my work involves surrounding myself with incredibly smart and talented people who would have no other reason to ever be in the same room as each other. That's when amazing things happen.
I tend to talk a lot about music (often jazz-adjacent and particularly on vinyl, but also playlists and mixtapes). I'm enthusiastic about food and cooking, the intersection of art and science, new technologies, vintage technologies, education, social progress, silence, innovation, narrative, data commons, culture, sound art and the spoken word. This blog will continue to reflect those diverse and shifting enthusiasms. I may also digress.
I'm from Tāmaki Makaurau / Auckland in Aotearoa New Zealand, I have Scottish ancestry, I've spent a decade in the south of Birmingham UK, and another in a forest in the north of Sweden.
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