History

I’m heading down the M40 to collect some tools on Monday. Been eBay-ing my workshop into existence. Not quite sure if the floor will stand the weight of the ancient, cast-iron panel saw that will be delivered next month. With that plus a planer-thickneser and a multi-function tool that includes a spindle moulder and morticing table, both equally old and solid, I’ll be on my way to doing some good, accurate work. Just have to learn their subtleties first.

The rest of our stuff arrived yesterday. Huzzay! The Vespa is shivering in the yard, under its cover and next to The Pelican. The outdoor furniture, having been born in Indonesia (hot and humid) and then domiciled in Adelaide (hot and dry) is now deployed out in the yard (freezing and dry, just now). I think any spring rain will see it off!

I’ve just made the acquaintance of the dentist recommended by our neighbours; I had chipped off the tip of an incisor. Turns out they’re right where I usually park to visit the Bear Café so I can get fixed up and immediately undo the work with a sweet cake.

We had to cancel Ralph and Karin’s dinner here, last Saturday, because of the snow. Now Karin’s first visit back to the farm will, as planned, allow her to sticky-beak at our furniture and cleaning standards. No excuses, as everything we need must be somewhere in these boxes. I’m seated on a comfy chaise-longue, looking across the parlour at the view; I haven’t had the benefit of this seating position before and it’s quite delightful. We now have a card table and chairs in the bay window, where we’re enjoying our newly-arrived, home-roasted coffee each morning, watching the roe deer against the snow on Moor Bank, opposite, and our tits swinging in the breeze.

Monica is away to the Sierra Nevada tomorrow morning but has just left her purse on the train from Manchester. I like such crises almost as much as I adore deadlines. I’m looking forward to some serious shed-time while she’s away. Maybe hire a mini-digger for some laughs.

Monica collected a car on Monday so we’re mobile again. She really wanted to buy a 4WD, diesel Fiat Panda because it’s about the greenest thing that will climb our hill on a slippery day. We tried out the only one for sale in the country, in Chesterfield, travelling there in the truck. They don’t make them any more and they have an enthusiastic following, so the price was as much as a new one would have cost. We both liked it but, when we imagined travelling to Ireland or Europe with Monica’s parents, we realised there would be no room for luggage or the dog. As it happened, the dealer had just received one of the few Fiat Sedici diesels (another good 4WD model they stopped selling) that is almost as green (40–60mpg), if you drive carefully, and has lots more room and was cheaper, so she bought it. When I took the truck in for a check-up the next day, they discovered it had no fan! Sheared off somewhere; very lucky that the weather was cool driving up from Watford and across to Chesterfield. All better now.

Neil may have noticed that we didn’t come to London for Australia Day, 26th January. Tracking our container, we thought it might be here in the next couple of days, so we cancelled the trip. We still haven’t worked out what to do with the hound when we stay away, so that was another factor. We will talk, soon, to make space for the Scotland and Pyrenees trips.

There should be a Universal Dissenter’s flag that declares, “This world isn’t my fault!” Of course, Monica and I retreat to Mondavia when human-kind disappoints us with a step backwards. On our mythical island, none of this nonsense is allowed, by strict decree, punishable by the pillory (of which we have quite a few, in case of tourists). I read that it’s the fault of those who arm-wrestled Peter Drucker (“a company exists to create a customer”) out of his throne to install the share-holder as king.

Apparently, the weather has been bad here. The neighbours have both had plumbers to fix leaks and floods but, snuggled in the kitchen or parlour here, it’s hard to detect the weather. When neighbour Dave asked for the loan of £20 to pay his plumber, I foolishly asked, “Has it been raining?”.

We’re having a day off, today, having tidied the house and sheds enough to receive the next load of mess, due in a few days. After that is delivered then life will be sweet because, for the first time ever, there’ll be no external deadlines (apart from the Big, Certain One) driving us to work. We’ve made a first pass at prioritising our projects: the barn conversion, DIY, gets a Guernsey; as do the planting and energy-generation projects. Of the big projects, buying the Mayo Hostel requires further financial modelling before we proceed, to see when energy-generation, pensions etc will provide what income. So guest accommodation will be in our own, converted barn which needs a name).

Smaller ideas, like the bread oven, workshop tool population, forge, a veggie-patch, greenhouse, fixing up the laundry and pantry etc will happen in their own time, in the cracks between the biggies.

A new project has arisen, that suits my druthers. Walking the land with cousin Chris and the wildlife inspector, we found a flat area of about fifty square yards high up above the road, looking South along the valley. It’ll be left out of the tree planting, set aside as a sheltered glade where different wild stuff can compete and where we can set up a hide(away). All that’s required is a little drainage ditch and it’ll be good to go. Maybe a cable-car to deliver the beer.

The first planting—three hazel falls and an oak/birch patch—is due to occur on the last two weekends of February. All the grant applications are in and we’re waiting the statutory 21 days for objections. We’ve organised Kevin and his friends to provide drumming entertainment during the lunch-break, I’ll be baking and the fire-pit will keep everyone warm unless it’s pouring down. I’m sure the volunteers will appreciate our efforts.

I’ve had long gaps in my riding career but it doesn’t seem to matter; I’m still a cyclist in my head and in my legs. Pugsley’s tyres are nearly 100mm across. That’s a lot to get moving but once they’re rolling they seem to have quite a flywheel effect, sailing over bumps, and aren’t too hard to push along. My main logical reason for the bike is to avoid damaging the soft peat of the paths over the hills. As it turns out, the extra grip on wet rock will be a bonus because many of the rides here follow old pack-horse trails up and down the hills, many of which are still paved with slabs of stone.

There are lots of inspirational trips being done on fat-bikes. Take a look at http://singletrackworld.com/forum/topic/great-pugsley-adventure-video

Not a single mosquito on film! I thought that area would be crawling with them. I followed the trip when it was under way. The miniature inflatable rafts were as important as the bikes; together, they make an unstoppable machine.

Now to get some of these bags: http://www.revelatedesigns.com/index.cfm/ and I’ll be on my way. Where? Yet to be decided…

I’m finally in a country where this machine makes sense: lots of mud and occasional snow. I was busting a gut to justify one in Adelaide, though a ride out into Lake Eyre might have cut it. When I collected it from the shop, they’d pumped the tyres up hard, rather than leaving them at the recommended 10psi; it was like riding a pogo stick through Manchester, skittering about on cobbles and bouncing up kerbs. When I got to the Rochdale canal path, I let some air out a life got more serene. The fat tyres maintain control in sand, mud and gravel when I’d struggle with other bikes; and it’s a lot harder to lose back wheel grip going up steep, wet stone. So far, so good, then. Just need a bit of snow! A Brooks, sprung saddle will be swapped off the Bad Boy before I give that bike to my cousin.

We’re just waiting for the last of our stuff to arrive from Australia, after which we’ll have no external deadlines to work to. This will be the first time ever. Soon, we’ll start some big projects that will have their own pace but I hope we can just enjoy progress at a natural pace. A local group are scheduled to plant a couple of thousand trees at the end of February but they will look after their own transport, feeding and facilities.

Monica’s soon off to Granada, Spain, for a week with her brother and friends. I’ll remain here to look after the dog and keep things ticking over. I’m hoping never to fly again because I’ve done enough and hate the airport security bullshit; I’d ride down to meet them but we haven’t worked out how to accommodate the dog when we’re away.

Our springwater pH is now steady at 7-ish, after making and inserting a new lime block into the line. We still want to get ideas about how to filter etc, so we await Dave’s team’s visit to sample the water;

I picked up Angela, the Land Rover, and read the manual to find out the purpose of all the knobs extending from the transmission and, guess what, we have a Fairey overdrive! Woohoo! It works but I’ll put some oil in it before using it in anger.

Monica has started work on clearing the barn and we’ve prioritised our major projects. Included is money to spend on Angela: DIY engine re-build, new springs are favourite; what else would improve reliability and safety?

It’s a strange feeling; there are very few deadlines left in my life and the pace of achievement is becoming entirely of my own making.

Up until Christmas, I had two years of pursuing deadlines dictated by the need to sell houses and move between them (and their countries). Before that, the life of work imposed deadlines ad nauseam so they’re a bit of an expected feature in my outlook. Now, there’s only one more delivery of furniture that creates an event whose time is outside our control; even then, the speed at which we clear away the stuff is up to us, once it’s on the ground.

Of course, we have lots of plans and projects in the pipeline; some of them will have a priority and pace that makes deadlines appear but most of those will be of our own choosing. The trick will be to maintain a satisfying sense of progress without creating a stressful, artificial schedule. The slower the pace, the lower the stress and, as a bonus, the more money we retain in the bank. It’s going to be an interesting shift in perceptions.

Monica and I had a very constructive meeting on this subject a few days ago; the topic was “Lumps” i.e. which projects and activities get lumps of funding from our exchange-rate windfall.

We got half way to Hebden today when I noticed the car heater wasn’t working; then the thermostat started to head North. I thought it was the fan belt because I’d just been booking the car in for a check-up and had discussed the slipping-belt squeal with the mechanic. After nursing the car back to the Walsden garage, their diagnosis was not good: head gasket about to go. It’s tragic because the car is generally quite good but, because its resale value is so low, no-one will do the work and it’ll go into a crusher. I didn’t like buying a cheap, disposable car; now I hate the idea. The waste is grotesque. I could replace the gasket if I had tools but, somehow, they got left until the second shipment and won’t be here for weeks.

As it is, I’ll likely have to rebuild Angela’s engine this year, on top of the other projects and maintenance. At least, with the Land Rover, I can’t over-capitalise on DIY. Almost every improvement will add to its value. Restored fully, it could be worth ten grand so I won’t mind taking a spanner to it because it’s worth doing the jobs properly and because the jobs are amenable to DIY.

Today I noticed that the beech trees behind the farm, those I plan to take down because they block the neighbour’s view, consist of about a dozen long, thin, straight poles. Rather than chop them for firewood, I plan to make a huge tipi for use on the yard. I saw one like the picture attached at Bury Nights festival and thought it would be a cracking way to get shelter for a party group. It’d scare the neighbours, too; they’d think Hebden Bridge was expanding!

Now *that* would be a good use of my time!

Had several more Christmases after Neil left: Irish Christmas on 24th, Christmas Day, Carmel & Dave on St Stephen’s Day, York the next day and Chris’s on the 28th (including Howard’s sister, Aunt Shirley). All fine, sociable affairs without too much family politics.

First thing on 29th, I collected the boat from a Manchester transport depot and then we received the first load of furniture from Australia that afternoon and next morning. Mitch’s lurgy then struck Monica, though I was shaking it off, so we collapsed among the boxes. Yesterday, Monica’s friend, Claire, stayed overnight and Kevin came for tea (he was loitering while waiting for Molly to call for her lift home from a party). We had soft conversation (apart from Clare and I jumping on Kevin’s more whacky universal conspiracy theories) until I let the Lucky Bird in at the stroke of the New Year.

Yesterday afternoon, I walked up to Warland Reservoir with Claire and got well soaked. Soon, the lasses are off to Gordon Riggs for a look-see and a canal walk before we join Bill and Hilary at Warland Barn for ‘a quiet New Year drink’. With him, Monica and Claire? I don’t think so.

When she arrived, Claire brought her friends from Long Causeway, the restaurateurs who’ve established a nearby small-holding. They’re good fun and full of advice and guidance, being a few years ahead of us and into everything. I think their place will be good to show the kids: Monica and Claire say they treat their animals (including huge rabbits!) very well so it would provide a proper farm experience. They’re hooked into local markets and get access to fruit gluts, so we’ll probably have a bit of commerce with them once the forest garden, bread oven, brewing and bottling etc are working here.

Next up, a couple of hours effort will see the workshop floor finished, then I can start putting all the stuff in place. There’s a stack of bikes calling to me for assembly and the boat, now out in the weather, needs drying and covering.

Dave, from the cottage next door, has assessed and photographed his Dad’s metalwork tools and, if the workshop floor is strong enough, they’ll be a superb facility. I’m promised a MIG and a stick welder, from Al and from Chris, too. The barn tidy-up (Monica’s job) is becoming critical because I want to use the derelict hay-loft flooring to make walls and cabinets in the workshop. She’s going to be sick for a few more days, though, so I can enjoy a few less intense activities like unpacking my kitchen gear. That 20ft container brought a lot of Christmas gifts from me to me!

We swiped a double bed from the flat and received two singles and a single mattress from Australia so we now have beds for up to six guests.