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He was only 22. His father wasn't around when he was young, and his grandfather was his guiding light. But then his grandfather died, and then his brother too. He started a slippery slope of online gambling, running up huge debt, despite having a partner and young child to think of. He got into drugs, and crime. He was sent to prison three times. His life was a mess. But he found peace and solace in the hills of the Lake District, and as his confidence grew and his self respect improved he decided to explore North Wales. I met him on his first visit to Dinorwic just after he met the goats in the mist.
His Youtube captures the moment as he walked up into the quarry. Rounding a bend on the track as he climbed uphill the young gent from Yorkshire enthusiastically told his audience on his video:
"This is an adventure and a half, ...LET ME TELL YOU!!!!" And then as he spotted something up through the mist, in an unmistakeable Huddersfield accent, "WTF!!!! That looks like a fooooking buffalo to me (I guess they don't see a lot in Huddersfield). What the bloody hell!!! ....do I do now? FAAARK!!! JEEEZUS!!!! Do I keep going or what?"
He carried on and met the GoatHunter, Darcy, peering down on this scene.
It was my last trip to the slate: my last adventure with Darcy. A turning point, before a life away from the quarries and where the goats have no names. New horizons, new life, new friends, new tastes, new music. Try this,
Food for the soul, dream of the outdoors when stuck indoors and taste the wild Highlands: www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1d0zdopwDc
Something else for you outdoor types too
Inwardly I took a solemn vow never again to use the 08:20 Glasgow train. Too many reserved seats and too much dining accomodation. I had been standing since Birmingham. At Crewe, as I stood in the vestibule, next to the toilet door, and transferred my weight from my right to my left foot, a pretty girl came headlong around the corner from the corridor. In the one-second once-over known to all men I took in the hair, eyes, uh ..bust, hips and legs. Oh-My-Ghod. Absolute A-grade stuff. Jeeezus K Reist.
"Doos this train stop at Warrington?" she asked, in an attractive northern accent.
"Yes", I replied, in my elephantine way.
Thank goodness, she said. She'd been asking the whole length of the train and I was the only person who knew.
For once nerd-knowledge placed me in a position of advantage with a bird. Had she enquired I could have told her that the train divided at Carstairs into separate portions for Glasgow and Edinburgh. I was two days short of my 24th birthday and, well, not a bad-looking sort of chap according to the standards of the time. But already I could see the lovely eyes turn down to the floor of the Mark II corridor first. Her sexual antennae had already detected that I was not a "fun" person. She turned to find a seat.
The incident, occupying perhaps fifteen seconds of my life, has always remained with me as significant ...the significance being that I was a prat.
The photograph was taken at the start of the day, as I waited for that 08:20 Glasgow train. D1008 WESTERN HARRIER waits at signals with a freight. One of the handful of surviving "Hymeks" approaches Bristol Temple Meads from the east with a train of loose-coupled vans. Its embossed number had lately been replaced with BR standard stick-on "numerals". I think it was the only Hymek thus corrupted. It was Monday 22nd July 1974 and the gasholders over at Day's Road would last for another seven years. The flats, over towards Lawrence Hill and Easton, were the highest outside London when built some fifteen years earlier. And isn't that Berkeley House, head office of my employers, the Bristol Omnibus Co., and source of the fivers in my back pocket, above the Hymek's cab?
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I own stock in the Holy Daisychain Wellness Corporation, & just returned from a board meeting at which I delivered an address entitled, "The Function of Angels in Holy Health Insurance Advertising."
I tell you, my speech was a big hit. But it was difficult for me to read it, because this was the only light in the boardroom.
There are babies EVERYWHERE suddenly? What is the deal? This photo taken at Trader Joe's in Chicago where two pregnant women stand with their carts side by side. One of them has just had a baby and is already working on another! Jeeezus! Cool it with the babies already!
tha nk k u u u u u Jeeezus
Something I wrote when I got back:
Fellow DB's
It's monday night and after eight hours in the library, I'm in my room, flipping through pictures and reflecting upon life. The nostalgia of the after-trip melancholy that inevitable strikes me has begun its passive march in. I charge these stage-ending melancholic reminiscences to the 'good' things in life. I charge them to the existence of beautiful things and events that are glimpses of an abundant life. Hallelujah for all things good and all the remaining that work out to the good for those who love Him.
Sometimes it requires that I remind myself that He wants all of me, as He did yesterday, and that He wants my todays to be as remarkable as my yesterdays. More often though, it is He who reminds me. In reverence I stopped and started writing this when this unusually warm march night has confused the crickets and brought them out in droves many months early to accompany in perfect harmony Bon Iver's shangri-laic rifts. Ah alas, we have hope which shall not be of yesterdays. Instead they shall be based on a love that is infinite, that blesses us to death, of which tacos, tickets, and j-trees are speck on a continuum. Good then, what other beauties shall be bestowed upon us now...? all the while His beseeching of us remains: to fix our eyes upon him and guaranteeing that we shall never be lost.
Thank you for yesterday but the uncertainties of
tomorrow never seemed better.
Caleb.
I ain't too sure jest what to make of this thing. They say it pre-dates the Cherokees. There ain't no birds to be seen anywhere near it. At night, you kin hear what sounds like fingernails on a chalk board. No, that ain't right...that's the "ol' lady" let'n me know I left the toilet seat up again. Anyway, I know that the dad-blaim'd thing scares the b'jeeezus out of me. Now, where'd I leave my Jack Daniels. I ain't seen it since breakfast.
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