Earwigging

Do you?

If, like me, you are nosey you will listen in to other people's conversations. In fact it can be the main source of entertainment when in a restaurant or a pub. I love it. So does Mrs AWB.

Today we ventured down to the Peak District for the first time this year. We love it there and now tend to visit a number of regular spots, mostly in the Dark Peak.

After visiting the Chatsworth Farm Shop we went to our favourite pub in the area, The Plough.

If you read the reviews you'll get a mixed picture. All I can say is that we love it. The landlord is a combination of the best kind of landlord, a maitre de and your favourite uncle. In all the years we've been there we've never been disappointed.

Today we sat near the fire. You can see it in the website; a little corner to the left of the main fire.

And that's where the fun was. Our neighbours were middle aged; I guess a little older than us and friendly too.

But, oh boy, was he out to impress her. I got the impression it was a 'new' relationship. He pontificated. He did like the sound of his own voice and ranged through what kind of holiday he liked by laying down 'The rules of holidaying' to how much money his associates in business made; a lot. She sat on the edge of her seat, mostly in silence. It seemed so odd for people of that age. They hadn't progressed beyond their teens.

Perhaps that's why they were 'starting again'.

After getting bored with them we moved our ears towards some new visitors.

Ancient perms. Have you noticed how the older and more crinkly women get the more perfect their hair becomes. Sort of like pale raisins with plastic wigs glued on top. When they talked they mentioned a 90th birthday. I think that was for the youngest and sprightliest of the three.

They took ages to get seated. It always strikes me as strange that as we get older time travels ever faster and we, as individuals get ever slower.

I wonder what it must be like to so old as to be virtually unable to move and yet feel time moving so fast.

Enough of such meanderings.

We finished our visit with a walk along the Derwent Reservoir


Some of my photos;



A view near the start











Trees marching down en masse to the resevoir.







A view back up from where we had started from.











And finally, there is a photo of me. A nice one too but I decided not to inflict it upon you. I mean, you can have too much of a good thing.

She blushed

What is it that attracts you?

For me there are just a few things that trigger that 'something'.

A smile.

Kind eyes.

A sense of humour........and no that doesn't mean she likes my jokes; I can't and don't tell any.............just a similar sense of the ridiculous I suppose.

And finally..........a blush..... a pinking up.......

I'm smitten then.

Yesterday, our last day before joining our teams, was spent listening in and taking a few calls. Luckily for me the team we were listening in with were the people I'll be joining. They seemed really nice.

I sat with a pleasant woman. We hit it off and, unusually for me, flirted a little. Nothing untoward. In fact many wouldn't regard what we did as flirting. It was subtle and that isn't the thing these days is it.

It boiled down to a smile and eye contact that told us that the other was 'OK'.

And then she 'pinked up'...........and she smiled more broadly too.................oh my word.

And there it will stay.

The bigger the build up

The more anxious you get. The more important the goal of that build up becomes.

And maybe that sense of proportion can get overlooked.

We had 9 weeks or so. Imagine being trained for something for longer?

I was imagining being a young soldier on his first 'live' mission to Afghanistan.

Puts taking phone calls into perspective.

My first went fine. Easier than training for once you are talking it is just you and that person at the other end of the phone. Strangely intimate. They don't see the trembling hands or the frightened rabbit look as you wonder what to do. They just hear that voice and the clacking of the keyboard; they don't know that half the furious tapping is correcting mistakes made through anxiety......well some of them he he.

Apparently my voice would sound calm no matter how scared I am...........I wasn't really yesterday. Didn't have the time.

Thank you again to those who wished me well. Much appreciated by this wittering old fool.

Six words

That's all, seven at a stretch. Those first words are fairly well set in stone. I practice them in my mind all the time.

After that we fly by the seat of our pants.

Tomorrow we go 'live'. We will answer real 999 calls. Closely supervised of course.

All of us are nervous. One was talking about Prozac, only half jokingly. I cannot remember the last time I was so apprehensive about something.

And for what? Answering a bloody phone!!!

But there's the rub. Just what will that phone call entail? They are so varied and unpredictable we cannot - thank goodness - have a script. Many will involve stressed people who we have to glean accurate information from and get it sent off quickly.

I could get..............

An Armed Robbery?

A Rape?

A Road Traffic Accident?

The scared victim of domestic abuse?

........or a daft bugger who doesn't understand what emergencies are..............the little old lady who is confused..........the kids playing a hoax..........a drunk..........or?

Who knows.

Blue lights and sirens

Have you ever been a passenger in a Patrol Car dashing to some emergency?

I was today. Exhilarating. I felt like Moses as the traffic parted before us.

But then when we got to our destination I can only describe my feelings as sadness.

Sadness for what some people do to each other.

Pride too; that, for all its faults, for all its clumsiness, we have a society that attempts to protect some of the broken people, the vulnerable people. I watched a young copper patiently deal with those who are vulnerable and give them what help he could. He did it with compassion.

On the way back to 'The Nick' we stopped at a pedestrian crossing and watched as two carers ushered half a dozen of their wards over the road. Once these people would have been called Loonies, Mongols and the like. Most appeared to have Downs Syndrome. Society has moved on.

The last one waved in thanks as we waited. We waved back.

He cared.

We did too.

Out early

I was up at 4 am. I watched the dawn.

We went out to Fountains Abbey again. Early. On no, I hear you say. Not that bloody Abbey again.

Well no, not this time. We got there before it opened. It does so at 10. we were there at 9 am but that was deliberate.

For adjacent to the Abbey is the parkland and a lovely walk called the 'Seven Bridges Walk'

A couple of links to give you an idea; Here; a map, And here; some photos

The walk has everything. A lake, stream with bridges to walk over, a valley, woodland, a country lane and parkland. All in about three miles or so. And you can vary it.

We walked down the little valley from the lake, over the ornamental bridges through the wood and up past Plumpton Hall - oh, what a gloriously English name - with its vistas over towards and beyond Ripon. Then down to Studley Roger before turning into the park and wandering through that with all the deer wandering around finally returning to our car overlooking the lake.

And all this by 10.30 am - the clock on the photos is an hour out!.

So quiet. So peaceful. We were back before midday.





Some photos.

Now you didn't think I'd leave myself out did you?

Finally, a view down from the park towards the lake and the Pavilion.

A frightening mentality

The mob. Not the mafia mob but that unthinking mode that many of us seem to acquire when we subdue our individuality and replace it with the emotion of the crowd.

The Tabloids smell it and pick it up, fanning the flames of fear and suspicion. Don't get me wrong. I think the Tabloids have a place in our society. Sometimes they can do a good job in raising awareness on an issue and forcing the authorities to act by publicly embarrassing them.

But when they play to the mob it gets ugly and I get uncomfortable.

It's happening now.

John Venables? You'll know the name. His old name. His original name. Apparently people feel they NEED to know his new name. They do so because he was released on licence and has been recalled having been accused of something.

Does that mean we need to know about ALL the criminals who have been released and who break the terms of their release?

The man has been accused of something. It isn't proven. We don't even know exactly what it is.

Yet people bay for his name to be released for their protection.

I'll ask a question.

Do you really want to know where every offender who has been released lives? Do you?

You might get a shock. That neighbour you share a beer with occasionally might be an ex robber.

We have to trust the authorities to try to get it right. They won't always but if we scream for mob justice every time that they, seemingly, get it wrong then we lose all semblance of civilisation.