Personal

Why I love Dorset

"How do you get back to the car?"

Another frequent question about my coast walking, but one always surprises me. It turns out so many of my friends haven't used a bus in years. If I'm walking with someone, I almost feel I have to reassure them: "Don't worry, it'll be okay; I'll go first and show you what to do."

This week I've been planning my next section: West Bay to Sandbanks. The Internet's made researching walks so much easier - you can check maps, places to stay, times of trains.

One noticeable gap though is bus timetables. Some companies publish online to a varying degree while others seem to treat the times of buses (and the location of stops) as an oral tradition that should be passed down through the generations.

So for a moment let me sing the praises of Dorset County Council, who not only publish maps and timetables online, but also offer a prompt, free delivery service for any timetable.

Here's hoping other counties dare follow suit.

Greenbelt

The first dream

Last night I had my first dream of this year's Greenbelt.

The annoying thing is, I don't remember whether it was a good or a bad dream.

Personal

Helicopter seeds

How better to round off the day than go for an hour's walk? And what better to do on a walk than throw a handful of sycamore seeds high for a second shot at the helicopter flight back to earth?

(This one moment was so unlike the rest of my day.)

Personal

Seeing Suffolk

Half-way across the county is the pottery where Ruth and Keith's dinner service was made. We headed over there to pick up replacements for the odd broken plate, and see what else was on offer.

Acting as navigator with maps in my lap, the thing I was struck most by is that I've scarcely touched this county I live in. It's criss-crossed with a network of paths that I've hardly explored at all, confining myself instead to the coast.

I think I've found this summer's Sunday afternoon activity.

Personal

One is not enough

When I bought my house, I was originally looking for at least three bedrooms: mine, a guest room, and a room to use as a study. The estate agent was surprised then, when I plumped for a house with just one room.

It's a good size. Large enough that I don't feel hemmed in; small enough that I don't rattle around in it.

But of late I've come to feel limited by it. Never more so than tonight. With no spare room I use the sofa-bed for guests, and the sofa-bed (or my single bed) isn't large enough for an eight-month pregnant sister and her husband. Keith drew the short straw of sleeping bag and camping mat, and I'm once again wondering when I'll get to move house.

(And again I remember the claim of "a public record of a family of 13 adults and children" living in my house.)

Personal

Two reasons

Two reasons why I won't get much done this weekend:

1. My sister Ruth and her husband are coming to visit.
2. BBC have live video feeds from a whole load Glastonbury shows.

I'm watching Goldfrapp's set right now, trying to figure out what I make of it. (I'm verging towards genius, but insanity isn't far off).

Ruth and Keith are much easier to understand!

Arts

Bedtime story

I've discovered the best way of watching a good TV series: one episode each night, just before bed.

This week I've been watching the remarkable second series of Marion and Geoff.

I'd caught the first series on TV back in 2000, but seen none of the second. It was hard to imagine a sequel that would match those early shows. They don't match; they far surpass the original series.

This is British comedy at its best: tender storytelling, an oblivious central character and lashings of pathos. There's no happy endings here, but no need for them either. This is life that we all recognise: a bittersweet narrative with occasional minor triumphs.

The one big difference: Keith, the narrator, couldn't be more optimistic. While retelling his everyday sorrow, he somehow always finds genuine reason for happiness. And that, as far as I can see, is the real reason for the show's success.

Nothing fake; no tidy endings; just a permanent, positive shine.

Personal

Never-ending heartache

It's hard to convey, in one photograph, how much a mass of twisted, rusting metal can mean to some people.

For almost thirty years, Brighton's beautiful West Pier ("the most important pleasure pier ever built") has stood unused, pointing out towards the French coast. When I first saw it, it had an unmistakable poignancy, as if to say it could wait as long as it would take to secure the funding for its renovation.

In the past five years, it's survived two collapses and two fires. But news is that today's storms on the south coast have finally claimed the major part of the structure.

Time to let go, I think.

Greenbelt

Beg to differ

Michael Eavis, talking about Glastonbury in this week's Time Out:

"Everybody's working for the right reasons you see. You wouldn't get another event where everybody loves what they're doing."

I beg to differ.

Tech

Not just Google

Do you ever wonder why search engines sometimes turn up utterly useless results?

It's a trick question. The answer is that it's worth so much to a company to appear high on your search results page, that unscrupulous individuals will do anything to get there.

Years back (1998?), when AltaVista was the net's favourite search engine, a member of their team told of the moment they realised how valuable the search business was. "It was when the first six-figure under-the-table offer came in," he said.

Search engine firms tend not to participate in such shady dealings, so if you want to artificially boost your ranking you have to look elsewhere.

Typically pages are listed in order of popularity - the more people that link to your site, the higher your rating. If you want to appear first in the list, get lots of people to link to you. This is where blogs and comments come in. You can use the comments on this (and other blogs) to publish any text you want on my site, including links to your site.

The fear of this was one reason I held off from adding comments to my site.

Over the past two months, I've not had a single comment spam appear on my blog. I'd begun to think I'd been worried about nothing. Then I noticed an entry (now removed) on a friend's blog.

Here's just one small portion:

I agree with this Art Trading Cards 046 As Make Lennox Financial Are 583 Wyndham Hotels The Use Enjoy Valdecoxib Very In Stock Market Information On 679 94 Xenical Side Effects Enjoy 10 Becoming A Mortgage Broker Are 3576 Wyndham Hotel Now Make Skelaxin And Fast Online Fleet Credit Card Order This Honolulu Hotels Where About USA U.s. Money 18 49 Hyatt Hotel 18 Mexico Viagra Prices Next Now 882 Credit Check Ok

Everything I put in bold type there was a link to the same site. This is why your search results are polluted. Because people are so keen to get your clicks that they'll plaster their rubbish anywhere and everywhere they can.

As Spam is driven away from our email systems, a new front will open up; this may be it.

What can you do about this? Not much, but since I suspect things will get worse you might do what you can.

Don't rely on search engines to find things for you - learn to navigate round the 'net other ways. (At the very least, know how to use two or three different search engines or directories.) And if you have a blog, scan your comments for spam and remove it where possible.

Angels

Inebriated angels

Did we win then?

Normally I'd know. Normally the behaviour of the supporters at my local would tell me. Cheers for win, violence for a lose. (There's a reason I tuck my car away on a side-street on match days.)

But not today. In fact, these past two weekends have been blissful. Everything changed just over a week ago when the Police closed The Angel with immediate effect.

I used to love the pub. It's a short stumble from home, and on Sundays its cottage pie was hard to beat. The place has changed hands since then. Gone is thick Scottish accent behind the bar. Gone is the old lady (in her even older pinny) who'd bring your food from the kitchen. Gone too is the dog who - no matter how many times he was told not to - would pad out from round the back to see who's come in.

People change, places change. I'd not noticed until this fortnight just how rough The Angel had become. Here's hoping it can change back.

Personal

Missing: Sunday

Tomorrow may be the longest day of the year, but today feels like it was the shortest.

I've just looked up and realised it's dark outside, yet I feel as if I've only just had breakfast. (I can't have: I know I was up by nine this morning.)

So Sunday's gone missing. Somewhere amidst the washing, the gardening and the reading, I've lost a whole day.

Greenbelt

Like a seminar

Today was another Trustees Day at Greenbelt. A quarterly meeting to look at some of the bigger issues surrounding the organisation, a chance to consider who we are and where we're going.

Today's big topic: What is the future of the church, and where does Greenbelt fit in? (Does Greenbelt fit in?)

This is heavy stuff: meaty discussions with some incrediby wise people. (And I don't have a favourite theologian, so I start with a handicap!)

But there's always something that enriches. Sometimes the core issues, sometimes the side chats, sometimes passing comments.

Today it was a phrase Martin read from the morning's paper. "Seek work that engages your skills, enjoy the moment." How long before I put this into practice?

Personal

Applied

Hurrah! Six months (can you believe it's been that long?) since my back wall was involved in a hit-and-run (it was the innocent bystander), finally some action.

My insurance company's been slow to get it sorted, so my neighbours and I have taken things into our own hands.

Which, as you might guess, means paperwork. Specifically, an application for listed building consent, conservation area consent and planning permission to "remove a dilapidated wall". Only another six weeks and we'll find out if we're legally allowed to do the work.

But at least it's progress.

Greenbelt

Sing when you're winning

All the talk at work today was of last night's performance at Portman Road. It seems Ipswich Town's stadium was a better host to music than it ever is football.

Two things interest me. First, the dream that Ipswich might play host to more arts. Second, I'm smiling in sympathy at the reports of noise disturbances.

To be fair, no-one has said it was unbearable, but many have dissatisfaction in their voice. Tales of the gig being heard miles away, but not directly outside the stadium make me even more thankful of the work Greenbelt's site crew put in to keep our noise to a minimum.

But this talk also worries me. Ipswich could be a thriving, exciting town, but it needs its arts. The town has no decent live music venues, and the thought of finding a ready-built one right at its heart is astonishing.

I hope last night was the first of many.

Personal

Sections and gaps

Another common question about my coastwalk is, Are you doing it in order?. By which the enquirer means to know if each walk picks up where the previous one left off.

My answer used to be, "as much as I can", and this year I'd intended on closing as many gaps as possible, but I've since changed my mind.

When I picked up the path round The Wash earlier in the year - a path I'd left four years previously - I noticed an unexpected benefit of fragmenting the walk. My mind rewound to February 2000 and I almost subconsciously started to review the intervening time. Looking back's not something I do very often, and captured in the framework of a walk it turned out to be a productive exercise.

That's not to say I'll not close the gaps I'd intended this year, but I've been pleased to uncover lost pieces of my past, hidden at the incomplete ends of a fragmented coastwalk.

Tech

Do not disturb

So Apple finally launched the iTunes Music Store in the UK today.

Take a wild guess where my evening's gone.

(But having said that, a good number of the tracks I want aren't available. Are my tastes really so strange?)

Greenbelt

Home early

In bed by 11pm on the second Monday of the month? Either the Greenbelt Management Group meeting was phenomenally short for once, or pab skived.

Truth is, it was a great meeting, very different from last month's. (Perhaps that's because back then we got through two meetings worth of decisions.)

But get this: one of the proposals I mentioned we'd shelved last month has come back into play.

In other news, bands are booked and the final round of publicity for the year's ready to be printed.

Everything's getting exciting again...

Angels

Angels with dirty faces

Found at a petrol station in Cambridge, the latest addition to my collection is this dipstick of an Angel.

(And now a message for Esso: why?)

Arts

Film: Van Helsing

Oh dear.

I was wrong. The Day After Tomorrow is pure poetry next to Van Helsing.

Kate Beckinsale's been much better elsewhere, as have the rest of the cast. Do yourself a favour: see them in other films. Sure you'll miss out on two hours of tooth-bearing monster violence, but you'll also be spared the awful, confused European accents.

Still, if you find yourself alone in Ipswich on a Saturday afternoon it's marginally better than standing around in the rain.

Personal

Adopt a paver

At the top of Angel Lane is Market Hill. And at its centre, the Shire Hall. It's a tall, majestic building, with outdoor stone staircases at each end, an illuminated clock and two outside cells (no longer in use).

Over the past few months, the hall's been renovated, and to fund the work the council have set up an "Adopt a Paver" scheme. For £20, you can have a brick in the square engraved with whatever you want.

Of course all the examples show an individual's name, but I don't like such self-aggrandisement. (Besides, consider my favourite brick - click the image on the left - to see why names aren't always the best things to cast in stone.)

Besides, if I were to leave my mark on the square, I'd like it to be more fun than my name.

"Your ad here," maybe. Or how about "This paver intentionally left blank"?

Anyone got a better idea? Leave your suggestions in the comments - they just might end up standing in the shadow of the Shire Hall.

Comment

The Polling Station

Experimental voting schemes seem to be all the rage these days. A couple of years ago Ipswich tried Internet and SMS-based voting. This year, much of the north of England is trying post-only voting.

While many of my friends always get a postal vote, I prefer to visit the Polling Station in person.

Take today. Behind the desk, two retirees are working the station. In front of me in the queue is an old man in a tweed jacket. He has a cane, a stooping walk and an infectious, toothless grin. After confirming his identity he leisurely makes for the door.

"Mr Harris! You'll need this!"

One of the folk from behind the desk is waving a ballot paper.

"Where do I sign it?" he asked.

"Just put your cross in this column, next to the party you want to vote for."

This man must live very close to me, but I don't think I've seen him before. Voting gets me down to the local community hall and meeting my neighbours. I wouldn't give that up for all the button-pushing or post-box stuffing alternatives in the world.

As I leave, I see Mr Harris is still keeping the staff occupied. He's handed them the completed ballot.

"I want you to witness me put it in the box," they say, but Mr Harris is more interested in seeing his smile reflected in every face that will meet it.

Arts

Film: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Before the film, the certificate.
Before the certificate, the warning from FACT.
And now - for the first time - before the warning, the notice:

This screening may be monitored by night-vision equipment.

It matters little what I thought of the latest Harry Potter film. You've already made your mind up whether you'll see it or not. So either enjoy it, or enjoy grumbling about how there's nothing new in the cinemas anymore.

And since you're grouching, let me ask this: why on earth was the film preceded by a trailer for a film about Christmas? Do people really go to the cinema only twice a year?

(I will say this about the film though: I loved the cameo by Lenny Henry.)

Angels

An angel actually

I've just watched Love Actually again.

Did you spot the angelic character? In his DVD commentary, Richard Curtis confirmed my suspicion: one of the smaller parts was cast in Heaven.

Personal

Caught out

John called my bluff.

A month ago I scribbled a response to something I'd read on the BBC News website. I was trying to be clever, but I think I came across a little bit smug. Almost as an afterthought I included a link to Church Action on Poverty.

"What did you glean from CAP's view of the Indices of Deprivation Index?" John asked.

I'll admit: nothing. I've not found a report on their site. But I've found other things, and it's made me realise how little I know (and wonder if that's a good state to be). This probably says more about my life so far than anything else.

I guess this entry's a public reply to John.

The reading I did suggests Indices of Deprivation can be a pretty unhelpful report, knocking communities at one end of the document. Beyond that, I don't know. I don't really live in a community here. I know a couple of my neighbours, but I've never belonged to an area so I'm lost when it comes to developing a response.

(How's that for confused?)

Comment

Myth and local legend

While most of the British press today is concentrating on the 60th anniversary of the Normandy landings, there are those who will tell you that the Second World War almost took a very different course four years earlier. And they'll talk in whispered tones about my local beach, Shingle Street.

I first heard the rumours just a few days after I moved here six years ago. Everyone locally adds their own embellishment. Fuelled by conflicting accounts, mysterious sights and secret reports, the rumours refuse to die.

Personal

Care to dance?

For some reason this photograph reminds me of the classic Reservoir Dogs pictures. But the differences couldn't be greater. Instead of calculating criminals, this six form a Morris Dancing group. And instead of striding with purpose and direction, these people are lost.

Personal

Not so bad

I'm sure you're dying to see how it turned out. No smile, but no sneer either. Could be a lot worse.

Perhaps it's a look of puzzlement as I wonder why I'm using a digital camera (the photo booth) to create an analogue image that will be posted to an office where it will be digitised, then printed again.

Personal

Death of a tree

Here's another image from Monday: the continued slow death of my favourite tree.

The tree that was covered with such beautiful carvings has now fallen victim to graffiti of a different sort. Across three of the stumps, someone's lazily daubed self-centred messages. These cheap white lines contrast starkly to the careful declarations of love cut into the bark.

I'm reminded of hip-hop and rap. I'm sure there's a subtle distinction between the two, but in my mind it goes like this: hip-hop talks about us and our place in the world; rap serves only to promote the individual. Hip-hop is Ms Dynamite, rap is Eminem. Hip-hop is the crafted carvings obliterated by the mindless splash of rap.

Maybe the paint will wash off. Maybe it doesn't matter - the tree is doomed anyway. A last glance suggests I'm not the only one who'll miss the tree. There, amongst the flowers shooting up from the tree's base, is one new, final carving.

"A.D 2004".

Tech

Gone phishin'

My bank just called me. And for the first time they've let me down.

Their first question was: "Can you let me know the first and third digits from your pass code?"

I glanced at my phone. The caller's number had been withheld. I had no reason to believe I was talking to a representative of the bank. There's no way I was about to give out that sort of information blindly.

Website

Comment?

So it's been a month.

Should I keep comments on this blog, or scrap them?

Let me know what you think.