Sunday Afternoon Stroll: 14th August 2016

A sunny afternoon and we took advantage of the weather and took a stroll along the banks of the River Lynher. Sometimes described as the forgotten part of Cornwall, it has long associations with the military because of its proximity to the Royal Naval dockyard at Devonport. A very pleasant 3 mile there and back linear walk, with a halfway break at the Carew Arms in Anthony.

Our start and end point was Wacker Quay on the Lynher. It is thought that Wacker is derived from Wicker and refers to its one-time willow industry.

The view from Wacker Quay up the creek just off the Lynher. Way back the quay was used for general transport purposes and had its own lime kiln. This use was changed when the military moved in and it became a supply line for two neighbouring forts built as part of the Palmerstone fortifications of Plymouth Sound and its surrounds. From here a railway line  headed downstream for half a mile or so to feed an inclined plane up to the forts. For lovers of ephemera, it's worth mentioning that the original locomotives, lines and engine sheds were destined for Khartoum in the Sudan but the demise of General Gordon etc put an end to this. The last notable activity that took place at Wacker Quay was during preparations for the D-Day landings when elements of the US Army embarked here.

A view down and across the Lynher showing the scenery we had for the greater part of the walk. The tide was coming in and the fish were jumping. The creeks off the Lynher need to be dredged regularly to keep the channels clear and the expense of doing this contributed to the run-down of Wacker Quay.

A nice collection of headstones in the graveyard of St James the Great, the parish church in Anthony. Unfortunately it was closed - on a Sunday!

The church dates from the 12th Century but, as we couldn't get in, there's not a lot more to say about it. But it did have a fine tower with a rather unusual clock face. Look carefully and see if you can spot what's odd about it.

And the answer is .. it's only got one hand. Not because one's dropped off, it was made that way. I presume that the approximate time was good enough for the locals back in 1810 when the clock was installed. Time was obviously not so critical back then. Such clocks are comparatively rare in the UK: many were made but few have survived.

Looking north east, the two bridges at Saltash are visible in the distance.

A walk from Meldon Reservoir to the highest point on Dartmoor.

Whilst people in Brazil jumped, ran, swam, rowed and threw things, we went for a walk with our U3A Thursday group. No gold medals for us but a sandwich taken on a sheep-dropping bedecked tussock was an adequate reward for our efforts. We walked in the north moors of Dartmoor, beginning and ending at the car park close to the Meldon Reservoir, a couple of miles south of Okehampton. Our route took us straight up (and I do mean straight up) to Yes Tor, across the saddle to High Willhayes, the highest point on Dartmoor, and then back to our starting point via Black Tor and the western end of the Reservoir. The terrain was an interesting mix of footpaths, sheep tracks, an old military road and a fair amount of cross-country bog and tussock navigation, parts of which we would never have attempted if there had been more rain recently. As it was, there were lots of 'soakers' and muddy wet trousers in evidence. No turn on the podium as the National Anthem blared out at the end but some did manage to use the throne in the nearby public loos. An Olympian effort all round.

The map reference for our start and end point in the Meldon Reservoir car park was 56133 91791.

Looking down towards the old railway viaduct near Meldon Quarry. Steep valley fed by many streams? Could be a good spot for a reservoir?

Somebody else had that idea in the late 60s and, lo and behold, Meldon Reservoir came on stream in 1972. A very controversial decision as it impinged on the hitherto sacrosanct lands of the Dartmoor national Park. Nowadays I'm sure that visitors to the area wonder what all the fuss was about.

Two butterflies for the price of one! A little bit of sunshine and some flowers on the bramble and out they come. The larger one is a Silver Washed Fritillary and the one at the top is a female Meadow Brown.

The Silver Washed Fritillary. A little ragged in parts so it's been around a while. You can get a much better idea of why it's called 'Silver Washed' from its undersides. I spent ages trying to get a shot of it with its wings closed but it just wouldn't cooperate and there was a limit to how much time I was going to spend waiting.

Nothing out of the ordinary, just Common Bird's-Foot-Trefoil. But still a very attractive flower.

When I saw these diverging paths, I immediately thought of the lines from Robert Frost's poem 'The road not taken'. I won't pretend that I could remember it all but I could come up with:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
In a way, it's what I've always done throughout my life, been attracted to the path less travelled.

An oak tree with an interesting bole down by the river. This woodland is a remnant of what used to cover large parts of the moor a long time ago.

Slogging our way up the side of Yes Tor. It actually looks steeper than it was in practice but still good exercise.

Looking back up to Black Tor, the third 'peak' we visited on our walk. In fact, a good day for 'tor bagging' - Yes Tor, High Willhayes and Black Tor.

It's a good year for Rowan (Mountain Ash). Apparently the berries make a good jelly.

Looking up a coombe. There is a path picking its way up the stream to the ridge but we took the one which came in from the right.

My mushroom guide tells me that this is Panaeolus semiovatus or the Egghead Mottlegill mushroom. Non-psychoactive and non-poisonous. Apparently it is edible but hardly a mouthful for gourmets.

Local eccentrics on the top of High Willhayes. OK, so you reached the cairn but there's no need to show off.

The trig point on Yes Tor. At one time, Yes Tor was thought to be higher than High Willhayes, the 'peak' in the distance, hence the placement of the trig point. A remeasuring exercise reversed the order: High Willhayes comes in at 2034 feet and Yes Tor at 1999 feet.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead ,
who never to himself hath said .
This is my own, my native land.
(Sir Walter Scott).

 

And they call that a sport? Really?

I have been trying to avoid making any comments on these 2016 Olympics, but I've been provoked and can hold my tongue no longer. Just now I was subjected to a TV item on  'athletes' performing in synchronized swimming. This is an Olympic event? Really?  I know, I know… it takes skill and work and practice, practice, practice to win a medal in this 'sport'. But it also takes skill and work and practice, practice, practice to play the trombone. Does that mean I can expect trombone to be an Olympic event at the Tokyo Games in 2020?  How about Trombone Pairs? Or Synchronized Trombone. Will there be a Trombone Relay? How about the Trombone Throw?  I would certainly tune in for that. I can just imagine the accompanying commentary.

“Smith has just entered the ring for his last attempt at the Trombone Throw.  He has already won the gold in the Non-slide Throw, silver in the Trombone Throw Relay and a bronze in the Pairs. If he can beat Edward's toss of 91 metres he will become the most decorated trombone thrower in Olympic history with a chance to win four more medals in the Slide Pair, Relay, Synchronized and Team events. Smith got his start in the Trombone Throw because he sucked at every other sport he had ever attempted. He took up playing the trombone at age 14 but when he realized he also sucked at playing the instrument, he threw it across his garden in a fit of frustration and a future Olympian was born.

Now here it comes, after years of practice and sacrifice Jones goes into his spin, he plants and it is a beautiful release. This is definitely going to be a new Olympic record at 93 metres. Jones is the new ..wait ...wait... the red flag is up. Oh no! The slide came off. It's a foul. No throw. What a tragic end for one of the greatest Olympic athletes of all time". 

By my reckoning, the Olympics should be about boxing and Track and Field (except speed walking. Come off it, walking is not a sport). No need for the other sports as they are adequately represented by existing professional leagues. If pushed, I'd allow swimming, gymnastics and volleyball to have their own separate games, the SRAO: The Second Rate Athlete Olympics. These could run simultaneously with the DUTTEO: Drugged Up To Their Eyeballs Olympics (see previous post for my reasoning behind this). If anyone still cared about ping pong, canoe racing, diving, archery etc. etc then they can watch Sky Sports on a Sunday afternoon.

The truth is out there..somewhere.

According to one theory, there are an infinite number of universes, which in turn means that all possible things which can potentially happen do in fact happen somewhere in the infinite multiverse, no matter how implausible or unlikely. It's mind boggling to think that there is a universe somewhere where there are actually more LibDem MPs in England than pandas. And there's the Corbyn Dimension where Labour MPs support their leader. There’s also a universe where the Daily Mail is a really good newspaper, although quantum physicists consider this to be far less plausible than the universe where the Daily Express publishes an editorial begging the UK Government to allow in more asylum seekers from countries which Westminster has bombed and invaded. And somewhere way out in space, there's the most singular universe of all, the blessed land where our politicians are truthful, objective and rather bland.

You know, I really wish there was less passion in politics and more cool logic; less evangelism and more data; less hyperbole and more matter-of-factness. Unthinking passion has brought the Labour Party to its knees and, as the success of the Brexiteers shows, threatens to do the same to the country. The exploitation of unthinking passion could bring the USA to contemplate a Trump presidency. Faced with all this, I find myself hungering for dry analyses and thirsting for bloodless lucidity. I admire, more than ever, those with obscure technical knowledge and the hard-won skills needed to actually make progress, rather than merely promise it. But don't ask me to name any from the current bunch of tossers who purport to represent us. I really can't and I find that rather disconcerting. Spirit of Clem Atlee, where are you in our hour of need?

A 12 Miler from Burrator

Every now and again our monthly walking group (as distinct from our weekly walking group) do a 'longer walk'. We had one of those days recently and we embarked on a 12.5 miler beginning and ending at Burrator Reservoir, on the western edge of Dartmoor. Our route took us down to Meavy, across farmland to Cadover Bridge, down the eastern side of the River Plym to the bridge at Dewerstone, up the River Meavy to Yelverton (ice cream stop!) and back to our starting point via Yennadon Down. I think all thirteen of us acquitted ourselves really well and finished in fine fettle. A great route and a good day for getting out and about. As the photographs show, it was a very green day.

Our start and end points were just by the causeway at Burrator Reservoir, SX55023 68008

Meavy village green with the Royal Oak in the background. It has the unique claim to fame of being the only pub in the UK owned by a Parish Council. I should add that it's a very good pub in its own right as well.

A footpath framed by trees on the way up on to the moor.

The River Plym dropping down to the bridge near the Dewerstone.

In this part of the world, industrial remains are never far away. Here is the old railway bed associated with the china clay workings.

I liked this for the textures - moss on a bract fungus of some sort.

And I liked this for its shaded ambience - beech trees along the River Meavy, which joins the Plym about a mile downstream from this point.

These two structures caused us to ponder when we came across them in the Meavy. My best bet at the time was that they were being used to count young fish. As it turned out I was wrong. After the walk I exchanged e-mails with someone who could give an expert opinion. Here's the gist of what he said. The Meavy is a good river for salmon and trout which lay their eggs in the gravel of the river bed. Successful development of the eggs, and hence the maintenance of fish stocks, depends upon adequate oxygenation of the gravel. Oxygenation of the gravel is affected by pollution. Measuring the oxygenation of the gravel is important so that remedial measures can be put in place if problems are identified. The bits of kit we see are measuring oxygen levels in the gravel and are part of a research programme run by Plymouth University. Who knows when this piece of knowledge will come in useful again.

More signs of by-gone industrial activity with the footpath running alongside a leat. I couldn't make out what the water in the leat would have been used for. It would have powered a wheel somewhere for something.

Perhaps the leat was associated with the mine which was drained by this adit? The keyhole shape is made by the growth of the moss rather than by the skills of the stonemasons who made the portal.

I love coming across random examples of recycling. Here we have some old railway lines refashioned for use a gatepost and stanchion. Given the thickness of the metal, this was not a trivial exercise.

A new ice-cream flavour for me - rum and raising. I gave this one a miss and went for the salted caramel and honeycomb instead. Highly recommended - both the ice cream and the place where we bought it, The Game Larder, in Yelverton.

On 27th July, in 1916, Sergeant John Adams Cornish died

John Adams Cornish was born towards the end of 1887, the fifth of the six sons of William and Anne (Annie) Cornish. William was the long serving headmaster of the Luckett Board School and it was in the School House at Luckett that John lived for all of his life in the area. In 1911(4th April) he was living in London at 75, Sheen Road, Richmond with his cousin, George Adams and his family. At this time John was an accounts clerk and, given subsequent events, this is likely to have been at the Board of Trade. Sometime after this date he was transferred to the Board of Trade Labour Department (West Midlands Division) in Birmingham and he was there at the outbreak of the war.

When war was declared in August 1914, it did not take long for John Adams Cornish to enlist and he signed up in Birmingham for service. This was into the third of three battalions of Birmingham Pals raised by a Local Recruiting Committee chaired by the Lord Mayor. He was one of the thousands of men who enlisted in the early months of the war, leading to the creation of many new battalions of the so-called Kitchener Army.  All of the men in these units were volunteers and were recruited from specific localities, largely of groups of friends: mates from school, workmates, sports teams, etc. hence the name ‘Pals’ regiments. The folly of creating the Pals battalions was revealed as the war progressed and as town after town heard the news of catastrophic losses among their local units.

Initially known as the 3rd Birmingham Battalion, it first trained at Moseley and while there was given the title 16th (Service) Battalion, the Royal Warwickshire Regiment. It then moved to Malvern for continued training, followed by some time at Wharfedale and finally Codford, on Salisbury Plain, where large training and transfer camps were established for the tens of thousands of troops waiting to move to France. The Battalion sailed to France, landing at Boulogne on 21st November 1915, which is the date shown on John Adam’s Medal Roll for his formal entry into the France and Flanders Theatre of War. Initially the 16th Battalion was part of 95th Brigade, 32nd Division but the following month the Division was reorganised by swapping battalions between it and the veteran 5th Division. The idea was to ‘stiffen’ the new troops by mixing them with the veterans (though the 5th Division itself consisted largely of fresh replacements after its mauling in the 2nd Battle of Ypres in the spring of 1915).  The 16th Battalion was transferred to the 15th Brigade in 5th Division. The 14th Battalion went to the 13th Brigade and the 15th Battalion to the 14th Brigade - this placed all three Birmingham Pals battalions in the same unit.

While training in England group photographs were taken of these Battalions and these were later published in 'Birmingham City Battalions Book of Honour'. As an original member of the 16th Battalion John Adams Cornish appears in one of these pictures. This shows that he was in B Company, Platoon VIII and was already a Corporal before leaving England. While the book says who is in each picture it does not say where there are in it. Luckily he was a Corporal then and, as he is the only Corporal in the picture, he can be identified by the two stripes on his sleeve.

16th Battalion, Royal Warwickshire Regiment, B Company, Platoon VIII.

Corporal John Adams Cornish, 4th from the left, front row.

Corporal John Adams Cornish.

After arriving in France the Battalion moved to Longpré, a few miles south-west of Abbeville where it underwent further training before moving to the Bray sector of the front. It first held trenches near Carnoy from 16th December 1915 and was in the front line over Christmas and New Year, suffering its first casualties during this period. On Christmas Day, men from B Company (John Adam’s Company) were employed digging new support trenches behind Carnoy. The area came under heavy shelling from German 5.9 Howitzers which resulted in nine casualties, mostly from Number VIII Platoon (John Adam’s Platoon). Four men were killed outright and two more died of wounds the same day. On 27th December, the battalion was relieved and returned from the front line to Bray sur Somme, where, presumably, they could open their parcels from home and enjoy their Christmas dinner. However their respite was short-lived as on 30th December, they returned to the ‘C2’ sector of trenches in front of Carnoy. By the time the 16th Battalion were finally relieved on 1st February 1916, the month of January had seen nine men killed and thirteen wounded.

In March 1916 the 16th Battalion moved to the Arras sector, where, over the next few months, it alternated between holding trenches and resting in billets until moving to take part in the Battle of the Somme. The total casualties of the 16^th whilst on the Arras front amounted to: nine killed in action, two died of wounds, one died of sickness and forty-one wounded. As it left the Arras front it was still predominantly made up of original volunteers from October 1914.

The Battle of the Somme started on July 1^st 1916 and for the first few weeks of the month the 16^th were held in reserve, although this did not prevent them sustaining casualties during the persistent bombardment from German shellfire. During the evening of 26th July, the 16^th Battalion, as did the rest of the 15^th Brigade, prepared to resume the offensive against Longueval and Delville Wood, which was due to begin at 07.10 am the following day. Both sides kept up their heavy artillery barrages and the infantry attack would take place within a curtain of incessant shellfire.  At 06.10 am British artillery was brought to bear on Longueval and Delville Wood and at 07.10 am, Zero Hour, the barrage was to leap forward at three intervals of 90 minutes. The infantry were then to rush forward and consolidate each time until the village and wood were cleared. However, the German defenders had dug in well and emerged from the British barrage to provide withering resistance. It was a day of attrition but, gradually as the day wore on, the 15^th Brigade slowly gained more and more of their targeted gains. As the Batallion War Diary shows, the 16^th were at the heart of the action and their casualties for the Other Ranks for this action were: 42 killed, 179 wounded and 46 missing. John Adams Cornish was one of those missing, presumed killed in action. His body was never recovered.
 
John Adams Cornish is commemorated on the Thiepval Memorial (Pier and Face 9A 9B and 10B).

 

Detail from Thiepval Memorial.

He is also commemorated on the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) ‘virtual’ memorial and on the Board of Trade Roll of Honour. The original of the latter went missing during WW2 and a replacement replica of which is now in place in the main entrance area of the DTI in 1, Victoria Street, London.

Board of Trade Roll of Honour, London.

Detail from the Board of Trade Roll of Honour.

The following notice appeared in the Cornwall and Devon Post on 26^th August 1916:
SERGT. J.A. CORNISH, LUCKETT.
Mr and Mrs W.H. Cornish, the School House, Luckett, have received news that their fifth son (Sergt. John Adams Cornish of the Warwicks), was killed in action on July 27^th. He was a Kitchener man and joined the 3^rd Birmingham Battalion at the outbreak of war, Previously Sergt. Cornish held a Civil Service appointment in Birmingham. Much sympathy is extended to Mr. and Mrs Cornish, whose youngest son (Second Lieut. Eric Cornish) is now at the front, while two other sons are in the navy.

The Olympics are upon us

The 2016 Summer Olympic Games are scheduled to open in Rio De Janeiro at the end of this week and already some in the media are predicting it will be a disaster. They're saying crime there is high, the mosquitos are deadly, the water is nasty, the favelas are full of feral criminals and the venues are sub-standard and dangerous ...blah, blah, blah. My response is: "are they really worth it?"

Do you know what it costs a city to host the Olympic Games? Anywhere from $6.6 billion (Sydney, 2000) to $44 billion (Beijing, 2008).  Rio is expected to spend $11.1 billion this year on their extravaganza.  And depending on the value they put on the publicity they receive, will they get their investment back?  History says it's doubtful. Oh sure, the contractors who build the venues (and the politicians they allegedly bribe) will no doubt do very well, but how about the average Brazilian on the street who is ultimately going to have to pay for it? The last I heard Brazil was in really dire financial straits, so how can they afford an $11.1 billion ego trip? I'm not alone in thinking that awarding the Games to a different city every four years is just a money-making scheme benefiting the International Olympic Committee, or as we've recently learned, the IOC members personally. They had a license to steal, and they did!

And I'm also not alone in thinking along these lines: the Games will always be the ultimate test of athletic prowess, regardless of where they're held.  It really doesn't matter where they plonk a stadium down. The Olympics originated in Greece, right?  Why not just hold them there every four years?  The historical connection is undeniable, and they already have much of the infrastructure in place after hosting the Games back in 2004.  I doubt the athletes would care: after all, a gold medal is still a gold medal.  We'll still see their smiling mugs on a cereal box.  The several billion TV viewers who watch world-wide can still watch. Individual national Olympic teams can still sell their sponsorships to fund their training centres.  You could still get your official souvenir hats, t-shirts, stuffed animals and other tat on Amazon.  Except for the local taxis and hoteliers and restaurateurs who have a gold mine overcharging tourists during those few weeks, who loses?  Oh yeah, the contractors and the politicians they own. And let's not forget the IOC members who love the jet setting lifestyle multiple venues allows them
What about the Winter Olympics? Why not just hold them in a non-controversial neutral site like Switzerland or maybe Norway? Both of those countries are wealthy and can afford to build the facilities one time, or refurbish what they already have, then just dust them off every four years and do it again.  Who knows, maybe the IOC could throw in some of the loot they get from the very lucrative broadcasting deals they make?  

Rio's $11.1 billion could have been spent on something better, like subsidising new industry to move there and creating much needed jobs. I think the average Brazilian would agree: a regular salary would trump ego trips any day. Unless you are The Donald, of course, in which case ego trips trump everything and anything.

In 490 BC, the Persian Army landed on the plain of Marathon, 25 miles from Athens. The Athenians sent a messenger named Pheidipides to Sparta to ask for help. As the map shows, it's a long way and he ran the 150 miles in two days. The Spartans were late in turning up so the Athenians attacked and, although outnumbered five to one, were victorious. Poor Pheidipides was then sent to run back to Athens to report the victory. On arrival, he screamed “We won” and promptly dropped dead from exhaustion. No gold medal for Pheidipides. Not even the Olympic equivalent of a booby prize?                           

The marathon was run in the first modern Olympics in 1896, and in many ways the athletic ideal of present-day athletes is inspired by the myth of the marathon. Their ideal is superhuman performance, at any cost. Performance enhancement is not against the spirit of sport, it could be argued that it is the very spirit of sport. To choose to be better is to be human. All of which leads me to another point. It's clear that the crusade against drug use in sport has failed so, as long as a drug doesn't expose an athlete to any undue health risk, why not allow the use of performance enhancing drugs? I think athletes should be the given this choice. The legalisation of drugs in sport may be fairer and safer if this were the case. There'll also be the added benefit of no more prolonged and boring TV coverage: if all the athletes are drugged up to their eyeballs and whizzing around the stadium like maniacs, we'd get through all of the events in record time. I'd love to see a 2 second 100 metres dash and a 3 minute marathon would be amazing. Now, that would be entertaining.

One final thought and I'm done with the Olympics (unless I change my mind): maybe this year's Games will be the last that Team GB takes part in as a united force. Next time around we may be cheering Team England, Team Wales, Team Scotland and Team Northern Ireland. Yet another unintended consequence of the Brexit vote?

Footnote: I'm aware of the zealous way that the IOC guard their image rights and I'll confess that I do not have permission to show the 5-ring symbol at the top of this post. But I like to live life on the edge so sue me, IOC, sue me.

 

Что-то странное происходит!

Мои дорогие друзья,

Я надеюсь, вы не против, что я пишу, как это, но что-то довольно странно, что происходит в последнее время. Хотя мой блог был пыхтит довольно хорошо в течение последних шести лет, привлекая немного интереса здесь и немного меньше есть, количество посещений каждый день оставалась довольно постоянной. Он не поставил ни одного звон колоколов, не выпустили ни одного ракеты в небо, равно как и не беспокоили какие-либо из своих читателей, заставляя их думать слишком много. Мне нравится думать, что это нежный блог, который вы могли бы сказать, почти был разработан, чтобы быть проигнорировано.

Некоторое время, страна обеспечивая самую большую аудиторию для своего блога (после Великобритании и США) была Бельгия. Я продолжал надеяться, что в один прекрасный день бельгийский шоколатье бы пригласить меня быть тестер продукта. Но нет. А потом вдруг, в то время как мы были далеко на север, ситуация начала меняться. Число посещений страниц подскочила, количество обращений в два раза и удвоить и снова удвоены (ОК, я преувеличиваю немного там). Я получаю больше хитов страниц в день, чем я обычно удается через месяц. Многое, как я хотел бы заявить, что это просто потому, что мои таланты как автор прекрасной и совершенно скульптурные прозы, наконец, был признан, материал я превращалась в последнее время является самостоятельной же тургесцентной мусор я штампует в течение многих лет.

При дальнейшем исследовании я обнаружил, что подавляющее большинство моих новых читателей в России, которая является еще более любопытна я ни писать на русском языке (этот кусок, который был произведен с помощью лучших услуг деньги машинного перевода не может купить, это исключение) и я не пишу о России. Они никогда не добавлять комментарии или ссылки, и если бы не было увеличения в статистике, я не знаю, что они там. Возможно, один из многих русских, которые будут посещать мой блог сегодня может сэкономить минуту или две, дайте мне знать, что привлекает их так много. Я был бы очарован, чтобы знать. В то же время я могу отправить вам мои самые теплые пожелания. Я поднимаю стакан водки, чтобы цементировать теплую солидарность, которая существует между людьми из Musings из высшего Downgate Блог и всего русского народа.

Товарищеским приветом

Дери Парсонс

 

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My dear friends,

I hope you don’t mind me writing like this, but something rather odd has been happening recently. Whilst my blog has been chugging along quite nicely for the last six years, attracting a bit of interest here and a bit less there, the number of visits each day has remained rather constant. It has set no bells ringing, fired no rockets into the sky, nor has it disturbed any of its readers by making them think too much. I like to think It is a gentle blog which you might almost say has been designed to be ignored.

For a while, the country providing the largest audience for my blog (after the UK and the US) was Belgium. I kept hoping that one day a Belgian chocolatier would invite me to be a product tester. But no. And then all of a sudden, while we were away up north, things started to change. The number of page visits shot up, the number of hits doubled and redoubled and redoubled again (OK, I exaggerate a little there). I have been getting more page hits in a day than I normally manage in a month. Much as I would like to claim that this is simply because my talents as a writer of fine and perfectly sculptured prose has finally been recognised, the stuff I have been turning out recently is the self-same turgid rubbish I have been churning out for years.

 

On further investigation I have discovered that the vast majority of my new readers are based in Russia which is even more curious for I neither write in Russian (this piece, which has been produced by the finest machine translation service money can’t buy, is the exception) nor do I write about Russia. They never add comments or links and if it wasn't for the increase in the stats, I wouldn't know they are there. Perhaps one of the many Russians who will visit my blog today could spare a moment or two to let me know what attracts them so much. I would be fascinated to know. In the meantime may I send you my very warmest wishes. I raise a glass of vodka to cement the warm solidarity that exists between the people from the Musings from Higher Downgate Blog and the entire Russian people.
 

Comradely greetings,

Deri Parsons