Yep, zippin' up my boots, etc.
We spent a very relaxing couple of days in Norfolk over the weekend. Which is where one part of my tribe is from. All farmers and clergy, from what I can gather. Plough the fields and scatter...
Anyway, the weekend involved various adventures.
We spent a good few hours in the East Ruston Old Vicarage Gardens. The gardens evolved and spread over a number of years, creating interesting views, bewildering changes from formal to informal planting, confusing hedges and fantastic views. And all of it refreshingly uncompromised by direction signage or labeling.
Suffice to say, I got horribly lost. With R on my lap, we spent at least half an hour going around in elaborate circles. I was glad to be using the powertrike, so it was battery rather than bicep that got run down.
In my defence, we were frequently confounded by steps which prevented our escape. But still, I think the old 'Captain Compass' moniker sticks.
Our other big adventure was a trip to the beach, this time making use of the adapted remains of an old powertrike which now consists of a lightweight front wheel that serves to lift my small casters off the ground, allowing me to push over much rougher ground, and even sand. Up to a point.
Mind you, once that point has been reached, the handlebars make it easier for eager volunteers to grab a hold and yank my sorry arse out of the dunes. Over all, this simple piece of kit has turned out to be one of the most effective and satisfying wheelchair modifications to date.
Last Thursday was also something of a milestone as I delivered my first course as a Back Up wheelchair skills trainer. It felt great to be able to go back into a spinal unit and hopefully offer the kind of inspiration that I drew from my first encounter with Back Up.
Next month, I am going one step further, as I will be one of the trainers on a multi-activity week in Exmoor. As anyone who has read my book may remember, I went on this course back in 2006, and it was a really important experience that gave me the confidence to face the challenges associated with a more adventurous life on wheels.
Anyways, back to the subject of ancestry. My father found this picture of a relative from the Dutch side of the family (more farmers and clergy) by name of Jane Janes van Slooten, a merchant and sugar-refiner in Leeuwarden.
The light reading under his chubby fingers is a guide to agricultural practice rather than the Bible.
Now I know what to do when my hairline disappears over the horizon. Might even adopt a frilly cuff, too.
We spent a very relaxing couple of days in Norfolk over the weekend. Which is where one part of my tribe is from. All farmers and clergy, from what I can gather. Plough the fields and scatter...
Anyway, the weekend involved various adventures.
We spent a good few hours in the East Ruston Old Vicarage Gardens. The gardens evolved and spread over a number of years, creating interesting views, bewildering changes from formal to informal planting, confusing hedges and fantastic views. And all of it refreshingly uncompromised by direction signage or labeling.
Suffice to say, I got horribly lost. With R on my lap, we spent at least half an hour going around in elaborate circles. I was glad to be using the powertrike, so it was battery rather than bicep that got run down.
In my defence, we were frequently confounded by steps which prevented our escape. But still, I think the old 'Captain Compass' moniker sticks.
Our other big adventure was a trip to the beach, this time making use of the adapted remains of an old powertrike which now consists of a lightweight front wheel that serves to lift my small casters off the ground, allowing me to push over much rougher ground, and even sand. Up to a point.
Mind you, once that point has been reached, the handlebars make it easier for eager volunteers to grab a hold and yank my sorry arse out of the dunes. Over all, this simple piece of kit has turned out to be one of the most effective and satisfying wheelchair modifications to date.
Last Thursday was also something of a milestone as I delivered my first course as a Back Up wheelchair skills trainer. It felt great to be able to go back into a spinal unit and hopefully offer the kind of inspiration that I drew from my first encounter with Back Up.
Next month, I am going one step further, as I will be one of the trainers on a multi-activity week in Exmoor. As anyone who has read my book may remember, I went on this course back in 2006, and it was a really important experience that gave me the confidence to face the challenges associated with a more adventurous life on wheels.
Anyways, back to the subject of ancestry. My father found this picture of a relative from the Dutch side of the family (more farmers and clergy) by name of Jane Janes van Slooten, a merchant and sugar-refiner in Leeuwarden.
The light reading under his chubby fingers is a guide to agricultural practice rather than the Bible.
Now I know what to do when my hairline disappears over the horizon. Might even adopt a frilly cuff, too.
Wow, how impressive to have a painting of your ancestor. An important man... Are you sure you don’t have rights to some land in Holland?
Did I ever mention that my relatives owned the farmhouse in the Cotswolds that now belongs to Kate Moss? We’re definitely on a downwardly-mobile spiral.
sx