Are we becoming a nation of Dorothys? There was a time when men were real men, and women were real women. And real men were real frightened of real women.
Now it seems that real men are on the decline.
I consider myself to be a real man. I am not afraid, for example, to go downstairs in the dead of night, to investigate a strange noise, wearing nothing but my underpants, and armed with an ineffective makeshift weapon picked up on the way, usually a soft toy or a bedside lamp or something, knowing that armed burglars may await me. But I fear I am in the minority.
I blame women for this. Because whilst they all want real men to keep them safe and secure, they don't want us to eat red meat, drink beer or fart, which are basic real man ingredients. They also don't want us to take risks, which is what real men do. Eating meat is what distinguishes us from the animals. Well the vegetarian animals at least. Cows and sheep are never going to be feared in the same way as their meat eating cousins Lions and Tigers etc. Eating red meat is basically a man thing - it is risky, particularly if not cooked properly, as in when we barbeque it, rather than letting a woman cook it properly. It could lead to heart attacks and stuff, but real men don't fear such minor trivialities - better to burn out than to fade away.
Women's attitude is best demonstrated in their attitude to child safety. I have two children, a boy child and a girl child. The girl child likes fluffy things, pink, warmness, dressing up, playing with dolls and all the traditional sort of girly things that girls do. This is normal and was not forced upon her - it's her choice. If in later life she chooses to ride a motorcycle, that will be her choice too. She'll ride it over my dead body, and having seen her on a cycle, this is highly likely, but it will be her choice, that's the point.
The boy child, conversely, like doing traditionally boy child type things. He likes mud, cycling, climbing trees, being sick, farting, sausages, etc etc. This is also good. It is normal.
However, woman does not like this. She realises that climbing trees is risky. Therefore she instructs man to make the trees safe so that boy child cannot harm himself. Put a fence around it, cut off the lower branches or better still cut it down altogether. There are apples on the top of the tree, which will tempt small boy child to climb it - remove all the apples. (this is on the verge of getting biblical now so I will stop)
Man however has a different attitude. Climb the tree he says. Why? Because it's there. You will do one of three things. You will learn how to climb trees, you will learn how to fall out of trees or you will learn not to climb trees. You cannot avoid risk and be a man. Man thrives on risk. This is important. Because without that simple knowledge, you will turn into a Dorothy. And you will surely be stabbed in your bed by a burglar.
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
One down, thirty nine to go
One down and thirty nine to go. Saturday 18th February was the day to take on Whernside.
Whernside held no terror for me, having walked it several times now, it is the most honest of the Three Yorkshire Peaks, with a steady climb all the way up and only a couple of deceitful false summits to catch out the unknowing. Two thing made it interesting this time though, the weather and some small children on the team to add to the fun.
We shall start the tale from the beginning however; as always there is comedic value to the trip.
The team comprised of myself, with son Thomas (9) already a Whernside veteran and daughter Emma (12) joining us for the first time, with regular walking partner Dave Selby, his better and worse half Louise, and Dave's daughter Charlotte (7) making her first challenge at Whernside – in fact her first real distance walk, which I am happy to say she took in her stride (pun intended)
Accommodation was our regular bunk barn in Ingleton, which I will not name for reasons which will become clear shortly. The accommodation was excellent as always, homely, reasonably warm (for reasons which will become clear shortly) and near to local amenities. Taking the smaller of the two available bunk barns meant our group was necessarily limited to the six above, and as it was a half term break for the kids it meant other regular walkers who normally join us were not invited – no slight intended on you guys, but this time there was no room.
The trip started with children picked up from their respective schools with the two halves of the team driving up to Ingleton to meet at the bunk barn, plan “A” being Fish and Chips on arrival. Dave favoured the M62 and A1M route through Skipton on the A65, whilst I went M62 to Bradford, then up to Skipton via Keighley, thereby missing out York and Harrogate on the alternative routes, both being horribly bottle necked at rush hour, which would be when we would hit them. In the event there was little in it, Bradford was bottle necked and junction 30 on the M62 had tailbacks due to roadworks, but I arrived at around five past seven, 25 minutes ahead of the Selby car.
Quickly booking in and getting hold of the key we headed for the chippy only to discover it had closed at 7p.m. (winter opening hours) Never mind, adapt and overcome – the local Coop came up trumps with oven chips and frozen fish portions – not quite the same, but palatable and certainly well received as the children hadn’t eaten since lunch and I hadn’t eaten since 5 a.m. the morning before due to being on night shift. After a video the children were settled and a couple of videos and several beers later it was somehow magically 2 a.m. and I retired to bed. Thus is the life of a shift worker – time is irrelevant. We eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired and complain when we are awake.
Dawn broke at around 7 a.m. but I suspect that was because the kids had been fiddling with it for an hour or so. Or perhaps it shattered because of the noise of the farm cockerel which chooses to crow loudly wherever Louise sleeps – it disturbed her at stupid o’clock when she was tenting at the same site last year, and the tents are separated some distance from the caravans and barn, so it obviously sought her out on some vindictive vendetta. Bleary eyed we set about preparing the full English that traditionally fuels us through the days walking.
Now a word about the accommodation at this point. It is basic, probably converted from the barn in the eighties, just but not long after double sockets first became available. I know this because it has two of them, on in the back corner of the lounge/diner/kitchen, where it is of no use to man nor beast and one by the cooker. Consequently the double socket by the cooker has two four gang extension cords plugged into it, one serving the TV, Freeview box and the DVD player we brought with us, and the other serving the toaster, microwave, kettle and fridge. I shudder to think what load is placed on the fuse box if everything is in use at once, but Dave swore blind the TV dimmed when the kettle was plugged in. This however was the least of the problem. The flex from the extension socket ran across the worktop dangerously close to the gas cooker, and with limited space to prepare food things got pushed and shoved about. Things moved, and the various electrical leads formed little loops like they do which got dangerously close to the hob. So added to the pleasant aroma of frying bacon, sausages and mushrooms, and the bitter tang of real coffee, melded with the sharp slightly burnt toast that Emma likes came the plasticky reek of melting electric cable. Initially suspecting the sockets were overloaded we first failed to realise that Dave was now cooking the Microwave cable. The smoke alarm had already sounded to warn that bacon was being fried, so we were able to cover up the fact that the incompetent orangutan had destroyed the secondary cooking device.
Actually, we were able to salvage the situation, the damage was nearer the plug than the machine itself so a couple of deft minutes with a screwdriver and a pair of scissors had a professional repair carried out in no time. Hopefully the owners will not notice that the microwave lead is now around 10 inches shorter, but if they do they should consider that it is now a much safer piece of equipment as it will no longer reach the cooker, so no one can set fire to it…….. We had not, as I feared damaged it, we had in fact improved it. You can see why I have not identified the bunk barn. All owners of bunk barns in the Ingleton area reading this will now be conducting safety inspections on their microwaves, just in case, and to the benefit of all. So, in a small way we have contributed to greater fire safety awareness throughout the Yorkshire region. It’s vital service we provide, so if you want us to set fire to your holiday lets, in exchange for providing us with a free weeks accommodation please contact me.
Conflagrations completed it was off to the start point at the Ribblehead Viaduct where the weather was decidedly murky, with the top of Whernside shrouded in fog and the bottom with that fine rain that quickly soaks you through. The rain stopped just as we set off, but we got a couple of showers as we walked up towards Blea Moor and the signal box. I always thin it should be called Bleak Moor and that a letter has dropped off the sign. That’s not to say it isn’t as beautiful as anywhere else in the Dales, it just looks so desolate at times. My camera battery was playing up due to the low temperatures, it was hovering around the freezing point, so I was unable to take a photograph of the Giants footprint, a scar on the slope which presented itself at just the right angle to appear as a giant foot mark, complete with toes. A pity, because I’m sure that when we revisit growth of the bracken and heather will have changed it completely.
Another surprise was the amount of water flowing down to Ribblehead, it had rained during the night, but surely not that much? The stream that has always been a mere trickle on the other occasions I’ve walked the route was in full flow with little waterfalls gurgling away, and water running down any sloped parts of the pathway, which at this point is almost all of it.
Just after the aqueduct as we crossed the railway the weather changed again, with a burst of sleet stinging our faces, the wind blowing straight at us as we walked. This developed into hail, before softening into a flurry of snow , eventually petering out, only to return as several more showers of sleet as we continued up towards Grain Head. The forecast had only promised rain, with a trailing band of cloud before sunshine around mid day continuing into the afternoon, but this mixed bag of weather served as a reminder of how localised the climate can be on the Dales, also proving the old adage – if you don’t like the Yorkshire weather, wait a minute. All that water gave Dave the chance to fall either into a stream or a bog, and as ever he didn’t disappoint, slipping off the stepping stones and filling his boots with water at Force Gil.
A big blue hole appeared in the clouds, with shafts of sunlight highlighting the craggy features of Whernside and the Howgills as we got nearer the top. The wind also picked up, and despite the sun shining through the widening gaps in the clouds it became bitterly cold as the windchill caused temperatures to plummet, probably a feel like -6 Celsius at the summit where we planned to take lunch at the trig point.
Charlotte and Dave lead the way, with Thomas, suffering from the cold dragging his heels at the rear and needing a lot of encouragement to go on. Maybe next time he’ll listen and wear more layers of decent warm clothing – it turned out that whilst he did have a thermal T shirt on he only had a summer weight hoody and a thin waterproof on top, having taken the fleece lining out in the summer and not replaced it.
Whilst Dave got busy with his expensive Jetboiler arrangement I attempted to cook up some “pasta in a mug” with my old gas bottle stove – a fruitless task, as the wind alternatively blew out the gas or blew over the whole ensemble of gas bottle burner and kettle. Cold water and Mars Bar each all round for the Crossland Clan. I would have made sandwiches, but Mrs C had insisted I get something hot down the kids, hence the pasta plan. Next time I’ll stick with my Hamencheese butties, at least then we won’t go hungry!
With the temperature so low we didn’t hang around at the summit, the compulsory trig point picture was snapped and then we headed on down the slope towards Scales Moor. The wind continued bitterly blasting us as we descended, and although I could feel the suns warmth on my legs it wasn’t until we reached Winterscales Farm that we started top warm up properly. Progress down to their was rapid for Charlotte and Thomas, rather slower for me. Any descent can cause me problems due to an old “war wound,” my left knee aching painfully when stressed, and it occasionally gives way and refuses to bear any weight. This can cause amusing hobbling, but these days I tend to use a stick to tackle the downhill stretches. On this occasion I had no real recourse to the stick, I just took it slow and steady and was fine, with Emma taking things at the same pace, the two of us alternately taking the tail end, but passing Dave and Louise on several occasions.
The final leg back towards the viaduct was uneventful, despite several boggy bits Dave failed to fall flat on his face or provide any further mud related entertainment. Three O’clock saw us seated in the Station Pub with a frothy pint of Black Sheep for me, cokes for the kids ad a Cider for Louise. Dave opted for some other weird bitter, but we had to restrict ourselves to just the one, in view of the drive back to the bunk barn. Impromptu entertainment broke out in the pub, with four doubtlessly talented guitar players having an impromptu practice session, fuelled by beer. The songs were vaguely recognisable, but a little to folky for my liking. We all agreed however, that we could have stayed there a lot longer – if only we could have afforded to. A round of drinks stung the wallet for almost £15 – and three of them were cokes.
I will return to Whernside in the summer I’m sure, as I still plan to do the annual assault on the Three Peaks, but for now it’s crossed off my list with 39 others to go.
I would have tackled some of the lesser hills on this trip, but the youngsters were tired out, so Sunday we simply wandered around Ingleton with a brief leg stretch on the moors above Settle on the way home. Despite the weather and the problems encountered I think they are slowly being smitten by the bug – it’s just that they much prefer summer hiking!
Whernside held no terror for me, having walked it several times now, it is the most honest of the Three Yorkshire Peaks, with a steady climb all the way up and only a couple of deceitful false summits to catch out the unknowing. Two thing made it interesting this time though, the weather and some small children on the team to add to the fun.
We shall start the tale from the beginning however; as always there is comedic value to the trip.
The team comprised of myself, with son Thomas (9) already a Whernside veteran and daughter Emma (12) joining us for the first time, with regular walking partner Dave Selby, his better and worse half Louise, and Dave's daughter Charlotte (7) making her first challenge at Whernside – in fact her first real distance walk, which I am happy to say she took in her stride (pun intended)
Accommodation was our regular bunk barn in Ingleton, which I will not name for reasons which will become clear shortly. The accommodation was excellent as always, homely, reasonably warm (for reasons which will become clear shortly) and near to local amenities. Taking the smaller of the two available bunk barns meant our group was necessarily limited to the six above, and as it was a half term break for the kids it meant other regular walkers who normally join us were not invited – no slight intended on you guys, but this time there was no room.
The trip started with children picked up from their respective schools with the two halves of the team driving up to Ingleton to meet at the bunk barn, plan “A” being Fish and Chips on arrival. Dave favoured the M62 and A1M route through Skipton on the A65, whilst I went M62 to Bradford, then up to Skipton via Keighley, thereby missing out York and Harrogate on the alternative routes, both being horribly bottle necked at rush hour, which would be when we would hit them. In the event there was little in it, Bradford was bottle necked and junction 30 on the M62 had tailbacks due to roadworks, but I arrived at around five past seven, 25 minutes ahead of the Selby car.
Quickly booking in and getting hold of the key we headed for the chippy only to discover it had closed at 7p.m. (winter opening hours) Never mind, adapt and overcome – the local Coop came up trumps with oven chips and frozen fish portions – not quite the same, but palatable and certainly well received as the children hadn’t eaten since lunch and I hadn’t eaten since 5 a.m. the morning before due to being on night shift. After a video the children were settled and a couple of videos and several beers later it was somehow magically 2 a.m. and I retired to bed. Thus is the life of a shift worker – time is irrelevant. We eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired and complain when we are awake.
Dawn broke at around 7 a.m. but I suspect that was because the kids had been fiddling with it for an hour or so. Or perhaps it shattered because of the noise of the farm cockerel which chooses to crow loudly wherever Louise sleeps – it disturbed her at stupid o’clock when she was tenting at the same site last year, and the tents are separated some distance from the caravans and barn, so it obviously sought her out on some vindictive vendetta. Bleary eyed we set about preparing the full English that traditionally fuels us through the days walking.
Now a word about the accommodation at this point. It is basic, probably converted from the barn in the eighties, just but not long after double sockets first became available. I know this because it has two of them, on in the back corner of the lounge/diner/kitchen, where it is of no use to man nor beast and one by the cooker. Consequently the double socket by the cooker has two four gang extension cords plugged into it, one serving the TV, Freeview box and the DVD player we brought with us, and the other serving the toaster, microwave, kettle and fridge. I shudder to think what load is placed on the fuse box if everything is in use at once, but Dave swore blind the TV dimmed when the kettle was plugged in. This however was the least of the problem. The flex from the extension socket ran across the worktop dangerously close to the gas cooker, and with limited space to prepare food things got pushed and shoved about. Things moved, and the various electrical leads formed little loops like they do which got dangerously close to the hob. So added to the pleasant aroma of frying bacon, sausages and mushrooms, and the bitter tang of real coffee, melded with the sharp slightly burnt toast that Emma likes came the plasticky reek of melting electric cable. Initially suspecting the sockets were overloaded we first failed to realise that Dave was now cooking the Microwave cable. The smoke alarm had already sounded to warn that bacon was being fried, so we were able to cover up the fact that the incompetent orangutan had destroyed the secondary cooking device.
Actually, we were able to salvage the situation, the damage was nearer the plug than the machine itself so a couple of deft minutes with a screwdriver and a pair of scissors had a professional repair carried out in no time. Hopefully the owners will not notice that the microwave lead is now around 10 inches shorter, but if they do they should consider that it is now a much safer piece of equipment as it will no longer reach the cooker, so no one can set fire to it…….. We had not, as I feared damaged it, we had in fact improved it. You can see why I have not identified the bunk barn. All owners of bunk barns in the Ingleton area reading this will now be conducting safety inspections on their microwaves, just in case, and to the benefit of all. So, in a small way we have contributed to greater fire safety awareness throughout the Yorkshire region. It’s vital service we provide, so if you want us to set fire to your holiday lets, in exchange for providing us with a free weeks accommodation please contact me.
Conflagrations completed it was off to the start point at the Ribblehead Viaduct where the weather was decidedly murky, with the top of Whernside shrouded in fog and the bottom with that fine rain that quickly soaks you through. The rain stopped just as we set off, but we got a couple of showers as we walked up towards Blea Moor and the signal box. I always thin it should be called Bleak Moor and that a letter has dropped off the sign. That’s not to say it isn’t as beautiful as anywhere else in the Dales, it just looks so desolate at times. My camera battery was playing up due to the low temperatures, it was hovering around the freezing point, so I was unable to take a photograph of the Giants footprint, a scar on the slope which presented itself at just the right angle to appear as a giant foot mark, complete with toes. A pity, because I’m sure that when we revisit growth of the bracken and heather will have changed it completely.
Another surprise was the amount of water flowing down to Ribblehead, it had rained during the night, but surely not that much? The stream that has always been a mere trickle on the other occasions I’ve walked the route was in full flow with little waterfalls gurgling away, and water running down any sloped parts of the pathway, which at this point is almost all of it.
Just after the aqueduct as we crossed the railway the weather changed again, with a burst of sleet stinging our faces, the wind blowing straight at us as we walked. This developed into hail, before softening into a flurry of snow , eventually petering out, only to return as several more showers of sleet as we continued up towards Grain Head. The forecast had only promised rain, with a trailing band of cloud before sunshine around mid day continuing into the afternoon, but this mixed bag of weather served as a reminder of how localised the climate can be on the Dales, also proving the old adage – if you don’t like the Yorkshire weather, wait a minute. All that water gave Dave the chance to fall either into a stream or a bog, and as ever he didn’t disappoint, slipping off the stepping stones and filling his boots with water at Force Gil.
A big blue hole appeared in the clouds, with shafts of sunlight highlighting the craggy features of Whernside and the Howgills as we got nearer the top. The wind also picked up, and despite the sun shining through the widening gaps in the clouds it became bitterly cold as the windchill caused temperatures to plummet, probably a feel like -6 Celsius at the summit where we planned to take lunch at the trig point.
Charlotte and Dave lead the way, with Thomas, suffering from the cold dragging his heels at the rear and needing a lot of encouragement to go on. Maybe next time he’ll listen and wear more layers of decent warm clothing – it turned out that whilst he did have a thermal T shirt on he only had a summer weight hoody and a thin waterproof on top, having taken the fleece lining out in the summer and not replaced it.
Whilst Dave got busy with his expensive Jetboiler arrangement I attempted to cook up some “pasta in a mug” with my old gas bottle stove – a fruitless task, as the wind alternatively blew out the gas or blew over the whole ensemble of gas bottle burner and kettle. Cold water and Mars Bar each all round for the Crossland Clan. I would have made sandwiches, but Mrs C had insisted I get something hot down the kids, hence the pasta plan. Next time I’ll stick with my Hamencheese butties, at least then we won’t go hungry!
With the temperature so low we didn’t hang around at the summit, the compulsory trig point picture was snapped and then we headed on down the slope towards Scales Moor. The wind continued bitterly blasting us as we descended, and although I could feel the suns warmth on my legs it wasn’t until we reached Winterscales Farm that we started top warm up properly. Progress down to their was rapid for Charlotte and Thomas, rather slower for me. Any descent can cause me problems due to an old “war wound,” my left knee aching painfully when stressed, and it occasionally gives way and refuses to bear any weight. This can cause amusing hobbling, but these days I tend to use a stick to tackle the downhill stretches. On this occasion I had no real recourse to the stick, I just took it slow and steady and was fine, with Emma taking things at the same pace, the two of us alternately taking the tail end, but passing Dave and Louise on several occasions.
The final leg back towards the viaduct was uneventful, despite several boggy bits Dave failed to fall flat on his face or provide any further mud related entertainment. Three O’clock saw us seated in the Station Pub with a frothy pint of Black Sheep for me, cokes for the kids ad a Cider for Louise. Dave opted for some other weird bitter, but we had to restrict ourselves to just the one, in view of the drive back to the bunk barn. Impromptu entertainment broke out in the pub, with four doubtlessly talented guitar players having an impromptu practice session, fuelled by beer. The songs were vaguely recognisable, but a little to folky for my liking. We all agreed however, that we could have stayed there a lot longer – if only we could have afforded to. A round of drinks stung the wallet for almost £15 – and three of them were cokes.
I will return to Whernside in the summer I’m sure, as I still plan to do the annual assault on the Three Peaks, but for now it’s crossed off my list with 39 others to go.
I would have tackled some of the lesser hills on this trip, but the youngsters were tired out, so Sunday we simply wandered around Ingleton with a brief leg stretch on the moors above Settle on the way home. Despite the weather and the problems encountered I think they are slowly being smitten by the bug – it’s just that they much prefer summer hiking!
Saturday, 11 February 2012
Turning back the clock
Some time ago I dabbled with a solar lighting project, with a small solar panel, which if memory serves is a me 30 watt panel, and an old car battery, no longer capable of holding enough charge for the car, but able to retain few amps/volts or “sparks.” Sparks, in my mind are the important bits, the actual visible bits of electricity, which demonstrates that things are working, or possible not, dependant on where the spark is.
With a little wiring and an extra light fitting and a switch dropped into the office below this battery which sits in the loft, the solar panel worked quite nicely even on the North East facing roof, providing an independent self sufficient 12 volt lighting system for my office. With a low energy 12 volt bulb it would provide three or four hours of free lighting, dropping to maybe an hour if used every night, and as giving as many as 6 hours during the summer months.
Moving the panel onto the extension roof, which faces more Westerly improved matters, but I still didn’t get the best from the system and didn’t feel any real change to the electricity consumed on the bill – it was after all only lighting the office, the rest of the house was still using the mains.
Well, I have now taken the next step and invested in a second hand SGTI (Small Grid Tie Inverter). This converts the 12 volt DC power provided by the solar panel into 240 Volt AC power which can then be plugged into the normal wiring of the house and used around the entire home. This means the solar panel is now working at it’s optimum and not limited by the restrictions of charging a tired old battery.
I have wired things up this afternoon and plugged in the inverter via a digital meter which shows it is producing between 0.7 and 1.4 watts with the panel in the shade. We’ll see what happens later when the sun gets on it.
Now 1.4 watts may not sound a lot, but this is just the start – I’ll be investing in bigger panels later. But for now consider this – without the system turned on my meter took 37 seconds to spin 1 revolution. This is with two computers running, and the TV on standby, plus the fridge and 2 freezers, although I doubt they were in operating mode at the time. With the system turned on the meter now takes 49 seconds to complete a revolution- 25% slower. So can I expect a 25% saving on my bill? Well, no, obviously, because come this evening when the lights are on the panel won’t be working, but there is the chance of bills reducing if daytime consumption is reduced by 25%, maybe a 3 or 4 % saving overall.
The 30 watt panel cost me, about £30 if I remember, so the break even point may be some time off. But, with three more I could make the meter stop during the day – and if I did buy three more they’d be going on the back of the house on the South West slope to get the most sun. Free electricity during the day sounds mighty tempting. I can however source a 250 watt panel for £250. The inverter will take up to 300 watts, so the 250 watt panel would work nicely with that, and that would then start to turn the meter backwards during the day.
As it’s not a professionally fitted system I wouldn’t qualify for any “Feed in Tariff “ payments from the Government, which would have been nice, but simply getting some free electricity and slightly lower bills will be most satisfying.
With a little wiring and an extra light fitting and a switch dropped into the office below this battery which sits in the loft, the solar panel worked quite nicely even on the North East facing roof, providing an independent self sufficient 12 volt lighting system for my office. With a low energy 12 volt bulb it would provide three or four hours of free lighting, dropping to maybe an hour if used every night, and as giving as many as 6 hours during the summer months.
Moving the panel onto the extension roof, which faces more Westerly improved matters, but I still didn’t get the best from the system and didn’t feel any real change to the electricity consumed on the bill – it was after all only lighting the office, the rest of the house was still using the mains.
Well, I have now taken the next step and invested in a second hand SGTI (Small Grid Tie Inverter). This converts the 12 volt DC power provided by the solar panel into 240 Volt AC power which can then be plugged into the normal wiring of the house and used around the entire home. This means the solar panel is now working at it’s optimum and not limited by the restrictions of charging a tired old battery.
I have wired things up this afternoon and plugged in the inverter via a digital meter which shows it is producing between 0.7 and 1.4 watts with the panel in the shade. We’ll see what happens later when the sun gets on it.
Now 1.4 watts may not sound a lot, but this is just the start – I’ll be investing in bigger panels later. But for now consider this – without the system turned on my meter took 37 seconds to spin 1 revolution. This is with two computers running, and the TV on standby, plus the fridge and 2 freezers, although I doubt they were in operating mode at the time. With the system turned on the meter now takes 49 seconds to complete a revolution- 25% slower. So can I expect a 25% saving on my bill? Well, no, obviously, because come this evening when the lights are on the panel won’t be working, but there is the chance of bills reducing if daytime consumption is reduced by 25%, maybe a 3 or 4 % saving overall.
The 30 watt panel cost me, about £30 if I remember, so the break even point may be some time off. But, with three more I could make the meter stop during the day – and if I did buy three more they’d be going on the back of the house on the South West slope to get the most sun. Free electricity during the day sounds mighty tempting. I can however source a 250 watt panel for £250. The inverter will take up to 300 watts, so the 250 watt panel would work nicely with that, and that would then start to turn the meter backwards during the day.
As it’s not a professionally fitted system I wouldn’t qualify for any “Feed in Tariff “ payments from the Government, which would have been nice, but simply getting some free electricity and slightly lower bills will be most satisfying.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Immortal has another lucky escape
In the distance past on this blog I have written of my immortality. (So far) Many events, some more bizarre than others, have conspired to kill me, and so far I have evaded death, which leads me to conclude he has something really nasty up his sleeve for me when that day eventually comes. Unless of course I really am immortal.
Anyhow, the point is he had another pop at me yesterday. In freezing fog and with snow covering lane 3 of the motorway I was dispatched to a single vehicle accident a car having struck the central reservation and bounced back into lane one, where it was now sideways on to traffic and showing no lights. In thick fog. In icy conditions. Not a good situation. Leaving the city I sensibly decided to swap the Volvo for a Land Rover.
Volvos are made in Sweden where it snows a lot, and you would think they would be good on snow and ice. There may well be, equipped with winter tyres and snow chains, but we have road tyres, no snow chains and the engine management computer programmed for the UK, where of course it never ever snows. Thus wheel spin is unavoidable and the traction control then tells the comupter top reduce power to stop the wheel spin, which thus stops all forward progress. Not good on snow then.
Landrovers, conversely are made in Birmingham, where it hardly ever snows, and are made out of bridge girders, with solid engineering invented by men in sheds, who drink bitter with bits in it and smoke pipes, and have never heard of health and safety. Actually that last bit is no longer true, but in essence the Landrover is solid, heavy, well built and will go anywhere as long as it is not damp or there is a Y in the day. The Discovery I took out was one of the newer ones with a computer system telling the 4 wheel drive what to do, which meant that it slipped and slided a little, but got us tot he incident no problem.
Lit up like a radioactive Christmas tree in lane one, with every possible red and blue lamp flashing to warn of the hazard we set about moving the car from the carriageway. On the face of it this would not be easy - it was extensively damaged and only had three wheels left, and one of those was at a crazy angle. Whilst my colleague set up a chevron of cones and warning signs I talked the driver into simply driving the car into the hard shoulder. We reasoned that as it was a total write off anyway, no more harm could be done by simple driving it with the back axle dragging on the carriageway. Like a wounded fox, it dragged itself clear in short order, and I set about the task of picking the bigger bits of debris from the road ready to reopen lane one. This had taken all of six minutes from start to finish, and during this time numerous sensible motorists had passed, paying heed to the 40 limit and fog warnings on the matrix signs, and noting the cones and flashing lamps.
At this point certain death approached in the form of an unlicensed gentleman of a migratory nature whose nationality I shall not disclose for fear of being branded racist. His country of origin might well rhyme with "waterproof Mac" and that is the only clue I shall offer. Coming from such a hot country neighbouring Iran, he has probably never seen snow before, so can perhaps be forgiven for not knowing that it is a very slippery substance. Particularly if you are running with racing slicks as you back tyres as he was. So, it is quite understandable that he was driving at an estimated 80 to 90 (witness account) when he lost control and punted a Corsa towards me before losing control and spinning a full 180 before slamming into the back of our Landrover. The Landrover, weighing I guess around 3 tonne was shoved from Lane one about 30 feet into the hard shoulder by the impact of his 1400 kg Astra. The resultant chaos as everyone else then took evasive action resulted in many cars going in many directions, bouncing off each other. I swear some of the cars were going in two directions at once.
Everyone except the Seat driver my colleague and I, were protected by metal boxes at this point. Seat man did a very credible 0 to 60 in about 1 second and hurdled the Armco from his position on the hard shoulder to the safety of the verge in such an impressive time that I have put him forward for a place on the Olympic team.
At some point in history, before the mechanical device that stacks the pins back up at the bowling alley was invented, there must have been a man standing at the end of the bowling alley to stand the pins back up. Standing where I was I had the same viewpoint he must have had - one fast moving missile incoming with around ten objects about to fly towards me but their trajectories completely unpredictable. The one saving grace was that I had swapped the 2 tonne Vovlo for the 3 tonne Landrover, and it didn't move as far and offered much better protection as I took shelter in it lea.
The resultant mayhem took the rest of the 10 hour shift to sort out, and put on paper, but once more death had been foiled in his attempts to get hold of my tarnished soul.
It is estimated that around 50 million Landrovers have been produced since 1948.
There are 57 million square miles of Land on earth of whcih 7 million square miles are desert or polar ice. Therefore statistically there is one Landrover for every square mile of land on earth.
Martins top tip for the week then, is to learn to run a mile very very quickly. Becasue I suspect there are more and more unlicenced migrant drivers taking to our roads, and only so many Landrovers to hide behind.
Anyhow, the point is he had another pop at me yesterday. In freezing fog and with snow covering lane 3 of the motorway I was dispatched to a single vehicle accident a car having struck the central reservation and bounced back into lane one, where it was now sideways on to traffic and showing no lights. In thick fog. In icy conditions. Not a good situation. Leaving the city I sensibly decided to swap the Volvo for a Land Rover.
Volvos are made in Sweden where it snows a lot, and you would think they would be good on snow and ice. There may well be, equipped with winter tyres and snow chains, but we have road tyres, no snow chains and the engine management computer programmed for the UK, where of course it never ever snows. Thus wheel spin is unavoidable and the traction control then tells the comupter top reduce power to stop the wheel spin, which thus stops all forward progress. Not good on snow then.
Landrovers, conversely are made in Birmingham, where it hardly ever snows, and are made out of bridge girders, with solid engineering invented by men in sheds, who drink bitter with bits in it and smoke pipes, and have never heard of health and safety. Actually that last bit is no longer true, but in essence the Landrover is solid, heavy, well built and will go anywhere as long as it is not damp or there is a Y in the day. The Discovery I took out was one of the newer ones with a computer system telling the 4 wheel drive what to do, which meant that it slipped and slided a little, but got us tot he incident no problem.
Lit up like a radioactive Christmas tree in lane one, with every possible red and blue lamp flashing to warn of the hazard we set about moving the car from the carriageway. On the face of it this would not be easy - it was extensively damaged and only had three wheels left, and one of those was at a crazy angle. Whilst my colleague set up a chevron of cones and warning signs I talked the driver into simply driving the car into the hard shoulder. We reasoned that as it was a total write off anyway, no more harm could be done by simple driving it with the back axle dragging on the carriageway. Like a wounded fox, it dragged itself clear in short order, and I set about the task of picking the bigger bits of debris from the road ready to reopen lane one. This had taken all of six minutes from start to finish, and during this time numerous sensible motorists had passed, paying heed to the 40 limit and fog warnings on the matrix signs, and noting the cones and flashing lamps.
At this point certain death approached in the form of an unlicensed gentleman of a migratory nature whose nationality I shall not disclose for fear of being branded racist. His country of origin might well rhyme with "waterproof Mac" and that is the only clue I shall offer. Coming from such a hot country neighbouring Iran, he has probably never seen snow before, so can perhaps be forgiven for not knowing that it is a very slippery substance. Particularly if you are running with racing slicks as you back tyres as he was. So, it is quite understandable that he was driving at an estimated 80 to 90 (witness account) when he lost control and punted a Corsa towards me before losing control and spinning a full 180 before slamming into the back of our Landrover. The Landrover, weighing I guess around 3 tonne was shoved from Lane one about 30 feet into the hard shoulder by the impact of his 1400 kg Astra. The resultant chaos as everyone else then took evasive action resulted in many cars going in many directions, bouncing off each other. I swear some of the cars were going in two directions at once.
Everyone except the Seat driver my colleague and I, were protected by metal boxes at this point. Seat man did a very credible 0 to 60 in about 1 second and hurdled the Armco from his position on the hard shoulder to the safety of the verge in such an impressive time that I have put him forward for a place on the Olympic team.
At some point in history, before the mechanical device that stacks the pins back up at the bowling alley was invented, there must have been a man standing at the end of the bowling alley to stand the pins back up. Standing where I was I had the same viewpoint he must have had - one fast moving missile incoming with around ten objects about to fly towards me but their trajectories completely unpredictable. The one saving grace was that I had swapped the 2 tonne Vovlo for the 3 tonne Landrover, and it didn't move as far and offered much better protection as I took shelter in it lea.
The resultant mayhem took the rest of the 10 hour shift to sort out, and put on paper, but once more death had been foiled in his attempts to get hold of my tarnished soul.
It is estimated that around 50 million Landrovers have been produced since 1948.
There are 57 million square miles of Land on earth of whcih 7 million square miles are desert or polar ice. Therefore statistically there is one Landrover for every square mile of land on earth.
Martins top tip for the week then, is to learn to run a mile very very quickly. Becasue I suspect there are more and more unlicenced migrant drivers taking to our roads, and only so many Landrovers to hide behind.
Friday, 3 February 2012
Challenge 2012
Those who have followed my random mutterings for any length of time will know that in addition to venting my spleen at the various strange, frustrating and vexing situations and problems I have also chronicled my various hiking outings on this blog.
My challenge for the past few years has been to tackle the three Yorkshire Peaks, at least once each year, either singly or as the full 26 mile challenge. Now, however, despite getting older the challenge is getting easier, so new boundaries have to be found and pushed, stretched and beaten into submission.
So after a little research I have discovered there are a whole other bunch of hills/mountains/tall pointy/tall blunt/tall flat bits of Yorkshire that are over 2000 feet high. Forty of them in fact. Plus one which is a shade under 2000 feet but looks interesting anyway.
So my new challenge and belated New Years Resolution is to hike/climb/crawl up them all before the end of the year. Now of course New Years resolutions are, rather like noses, there to be broken, and challenges are there to fail, so I fully expect to have a few left at the end of the year, but it will be fun trying to achieve this goal, if of course like me, you find walking in the cold and wet, getting lost and falling in bogs to be fun.
This plan, thought up whilst entirely sober I might add, has caught my imagination such that i have even thought about finding another 3 hills, to make up the grand total of 44, one for each year of my life. Sca Fell Pike will have to be one of these honorary Yorkshire Hills, but I am short of two more. I'm sure I'll think of something between now and the year end/end of challenge, which ever comes first.
For now here is the list of the hills, in order of height, not necessarily in the order in which I'll complete them.
Name Location Height Grid Ref
Little Whernside Coverdale 1981 SE027776
Birks Fell Wharfedale 2014 SD918764
Drumaldrace (Wether Fell) Sleddale 2014 SD873868
Bush Howe Howgill Fells 2044 SD659980
Randygill Top Howgill Fells 2047 NY687000
Darnbrook Fell Littondale 2047 SD884728
Gragareth Kingsdale 2057 SD687793
Green Hill Dentdale 2060 SD701820
Yarlside Howgill Fells 2096 SD685984
Fell Head Howgill Fells 2100 SD647981
Yockenthwaite Moor Langstrothdale 2110 SD908810
Simon Fell Chapel-le-Dale 2133 SD754751
Fountains Fell South Top Silverdale 2172 SD868707
Nine Standards Rigg Hartley Fell 2172 NY824063
Great Dummacks Howgill Fells 2175 SD679963
Sails (Little Fell) Buttertubs Pass 2189 SD808971
Dodd Fell Hill Cam High Road 2192 SD841845
Water Crag East Stonesdale 2192 NY928046
Fountains Fell Silverdale 2192 SD864715
Bram Rigg Top Howgill Fells 2205 SD668965
Rogans Seat East Stonesdale 2205 NY919031
Great Knoutberry Hill Widdale 2205 SD788871
Calders Howgill Fells 2211 SD671960
Lovely Seat Buttertubs Pass 2215 SD878951
Knoutberry Haw Garsdale 2218 SD731919
The Calf Howgill Fells 2218 SD667970
Tarn Rigg Hill (Baugh Fell) Garsdale 2224 SD741916
Plover hill Halton Gill 2231 SD848752
Swarth Fell Mallerstang 2234 SD754967
Crag Hill Dentdale 2237 SD692833
Great Coum Dentdale 2254 SD696835
Hugh Seat Mallerstang 2260 SD808991
Pen-Y-Ghent Ribblesdale 2277 SD838733
Gregory Chapel Mallerstang 2280 NY802002
Buckden Pike Upper Wharfedale 2303 SD960787
Great Whernside Upper Wharfedale 2310 SE002739
Wild Boar Fell Mallerstang 2323 SD757988
High Seat Mallerstang 2326 NY801012
Great Shunner Fell Thwaite 2349 SD848972
Ingleborough Chapel-le-Dale 2372 SD740745
Whernside Ribblesdale 2415 SD738814
That ought to keep me busy.
The weekend of 17th-19th February is already put aside for Ingleborough and either Whernside or Pen-Y-Ghent as I am in the area with the kids that weekend for half term. I'd happily have a go at all three, but at 9 and 12 the youngsters probably aren't quite up to it yet.
Watch this space for irregular updates, and the no doubt humorous adventures that will befall me.
My challenge for the past few years has been to tackle the three Yorkshire Peaks, at least once each year, either singly or as the full 26 mile challenge. Now, however, despite getting older the challenge is getting easier, so new boundaries have to be found and pushed, stretched and beaten into submission.
So after a little research I have discovered there are a whole other bunch of hills/mountains/tall pointy/tall blunt/tall flat bits of Yorkshire that are over 2000 feet high. Forty of them in fact. Plus one which is a shade under 2000 feet but looks interesting anyway.
So my new challenge and belated New Years Resolution is to hike/climb/crawl up them all before the end of the year. Now of course New Years resolutions are, rather like noses, there to be broken, and challenges are there to fail, so I fully expect to have a few left at the end of the year, but it will be fun trying to achieve this goal, if of course like me, you find walking in the cold and wet, getting lost and falling in bogs to be fun.
This plan, thought up whilst entirely sober I might add, has caught my imagination such that i have even thought about finding another 3 hills, to make up the grand total of 44, one for each year of my life. Sca Fell Pike will have to be one of these honorary Yorkshire Hills, but I am short of two more. I'm sure I'll think of something between now and the year end/end of challenge, which ever comes first.
For now here is the list of the hills, in order of height, not necessarily in the order in which I'll complete them.
Name Location Height Grid Ref
Little Whernside Coverdale 1981 SE027776
Birks Fell Wharfedale 2014 SD918764
Drumaldrace (Wether Fell) Sleddale 2014 SD873868
Bush Howe Howgill Fells 2044 SD659980
Randygill Top Howgill Fells 2047 NY687000
Darnbrook Fell Littondale 2047 SD884728
Gragareth Kingsdale 2057 SD687793
Green Hill Dentdale 2060 SD701820
Yarlside Howgill Fells 2096 SD685984
Fell Head Howgill Fells 2100 SD647981
Yockenthwaite Moor Langstrothdale 2110 SD908810
Simon Fell Chapel-le-Dale 2133 SD754751
Fountains Fell South Top Silverdale 2172 SD868707
Nine Standards Rigg Hartley Fell 2172 NY824063
Great Dummacks Howgill Fells 2175 SD679963
Sails (Little Fell) Buttertubs Pass 2189 SD808971
Dodd Fell Hill Cam High Road 2192 SD841845
Water Crag East Stonesdale 2192 NY928046
Fountains Fell Silverdale 2192 SD864715
Bram Rigg Top Howgill Fells 2205 SD668965
Rogans Seat East Stonesdale 2205 NY919031
Great Knoutberry Hill Widdale 2205 SD788871
Calders Howgill Fells 2211 SD671960
Lovely Seat Buttertubs Pass 2215 SD878951
Knoutberry Haw Garsdale 2218 SD731919
The Calf Howgill Fells 2218 SD667970
Tarn Rigg Hill (Baugh Fell) Garsdale 2224 SD741916
Plover hill Halton Gill 2231 SD848752
Swarth Fell Mallerstang 2234 SD754967
Crag Hill Dentdale 2237 SD692833
Great Coum Dentdale 2254 SD696835
Hugh Seat Mallerstang 2260 SD808991
Pen-Y-Ghent Ribblesdale 2277 SD838733
Gregory Chapel Mallerstang 2280 NY802002
Buckden Pike Upper Wharfedale 2303 SD960787
Great Whernside Upper Wharfedale 2310 SE002739
Wild Boar Fell Mallerstang 2323 SD757988
High Seat Mallerstang 2326 NY801012
Great Shunner Fell Thwaite 2349 SD848972
Ingleborough Chapel-le-Dale 2372 SD740745
Whernside Ribblesdale 2415 SD738814
That ought to keep me busy.
The weekend of 17th-19th February is already put aside for Ingleborough and either Whernside or Pen-Y-Ghent as I am in the area with the kids that weekend for half term. I'd happily have a go at all three, but at 9 and 12 the youngsters probably aren't quite up to it yet.
Watch this space for irregular updates, and the no doubt humorous adventures that will befall me.