An Outing: The Ending

You will have to excuse me, it's been a while since I wrote for my blog, a while since I updated you on my brief weekend away, and even longer since I actually experienced it - my memory is somewhat fuzzy. The only reason I am writing tonight is because I promised myself I would. Let me tell you, if you're looking to practice your writing, and perhaps make a career out of it, forcing yourself to write is never a wise approach. Much like me you'll find yourself sat in an old chair, mind wandering and aching as you churn out words. Not even good words. Certainly not your best words. Much like I'm doing, you'll sit there, run your hand through your hair and rest your head in your palm for a few seconds. You'll consider your options:

1) Write another night, when you feel inspired
2) Suck it up, get working
3) Nobody reads this anyway, forget the series. Write about other things

So I consider my options. I refuse to put it off and put it off - option the first is no good. '2)' could be a winner. Then again, after every sentence I get a sinking feeling that this isn't my best work. I want to delete every sentence after scrawling it. Eradicate and remove it and pretend it never happened. Despite this, I'm plodding on. I plod on because, though I may not be a very good writer, I am, at least, an honest writer. I would rather explore my feelings of fatigue and frustration than bottle them up and pretend they don't exist. It's all about experience. I have very little experience. Perhaps people will read this and think "what a drivelling idiot, this rambling is pathetic" or perhaps they will think "actually, I can really relate to that dejected, frustrated feeling. I've been there, I empathise." I won't know until I bite the bullet and post what I write. Option 3 is somewhat true. However, I happen to be something of a collector, I like neat, tidy order. Abandoning my write-up of a weekend long-since passed would niggle at me. "Why didn't you finish Sam?" "Why not post a little entry? Wrap everything up? Won't that look neat and complete?" So, I am in two minds. The OCD-angel on one shoulder encourages me to finish. The anarchistic devil opposite wants to move on and explore and do as he pleases. Let me try to satisfy both by briefly summarising what you missed.

• We board a York to Edinburgh train on Saturday Morning.
• We board an Edinburgh to Glasgow train on Saturday Afternoon
• A young girl called Ella, seated a few rows ahead, constantly interrupts the journey with incessant moaning.
• Never teach your children a second language, especially if you don't speak it.
• Riding the Glaswegian subway is how I imagine demons commute to work in Hell.
• We saw Bill Bailey on the Saturday night. We sat so high up I was making eye-contact with the rafters. I felt a nosebleed coming on. At one point I attempted to burp before realising there was little atmosphere left for it to emerge into, so the bubble of irn bru gas sat idly in my gullet.
• We rounded off the trip by rock-climbing in an abandoned church.
• We board a Glasgow to Edinburgh train on Sunday Afternoon.
• We board an Edinburgh to York train on Sunday Afternoon.
• I board a York to Accrington train on Sunday Evening.
• I get bored of boarding somewhere along the way.

Now, perhaps I can put that whole weekend to bed. We will resume normal programming shortly

Thank you and goodnight

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

An Outing: Entry Two.

After volunteering my seat and retiring to a fold-down chair opposite a toilet with a broken door we stopped in Leeds for a gaggle of Yorkshiremen to board the train. I'm not sure what the collective noun for several Yorkshire folk is. Perhaps not a gaggle, they were all very quiet and evasive when it came to eye contact and conversation. You might think this would suit someone as chronically unsociable as me - and it did. It did until a cyclist showed up and wanted to demote me further, from sitting outside a broken W.C. to standing outside a broken W.C., so he could stow his bicycle. Trying to find some space in a crowded compartment is made all the more difficult when the stuffy Yorkshirefolk don't acknowledge your existence. Perhaps they had finally cottoned on that I was from Lancashire. I'm not sure how though - it wasn't my accent, I hadn't said a word. I must have had a 'west-of-the-Pennines' vibe about me. Thankfully, after an imbroglio of a train journey, our arrival in York was uneventful.

im.bro.glio
Noun
An extremely confused, complicated, or embarrassing situation: "the Watergate imbroglio"

I found Alex waiting for me on a bench in York. We did that involuntary thing friends do when they haven't seen each other for months - I believe it's called smiling, before burying any emotions (like men!) and heading out into York. We got about fifty metres out of the station before being accosted by some charity worker or nightclub rep. I hate those people. Actually, that's not strictly fair, I hate the job they do - paid to cram flyers into my hand or to guilt me in to donating 'just £2 a month'. I'm not sure which I detest more, a stranger engaging me in conversation or a stranger engaging me in conversation for their own selfish gains. As luck would have it, I was following Alex into York and Alex was following me. He soon realised I had no idea where we were going and therefore was the worst person to follow. We did a U-turn to catch a bus and did our best to evade the nightclub charity rep girl as we passed her again.

There's not much to say after getting on the bus. We drove through York and out the other side, got off, crossed a field, I threw stickyweed at Alex because I'm childish. He tried to explain, as we approached his student house, that he lived out in the 'rough' part of York, where most students don't like to live. Saying 'the rough part of York' is quite oxymoronic - especially when you say it to someone who grew up in a dilapidated industrial town where knife crime and knock-a-door-run are regional sports. My point was made as we passed two girls walking a dog. One stopped us and complimented me on my shoes - I'll be honest, they were good shoes. Now if it had really been a rough area, like the ones I'm accustomed to, saying "Hey, nice shoes" would be followed with "They're mine now" and I would have been knocked to the floor and mugged for my clogs. Instead the girls smiled and walked off and that was the end of it.

Image Owner: Xerones

An Outing, Entry One.

This weekend I decided upon an adventure. If you have followed my posts for the last few months, you will know I have devoted a lot of time to working. Truth by told, I have been going stir-crazy, trapped by the same four walls. My walk to work, my greatest outing, has been a flight of stairs at the rear of the building.

How best to present my weekend galavanting? I could type up the whole experience in one fell swoop, though you would get bored reading and I would get bored writing. Instead, I suppose I'll copy out my notebook entries, originally written as I travelled.

Friday, May 10th
One redeemable feature of living in the north is the undulating landscape. I have caught the train from Accrington to York. Between tunnels and dilapidated industrial towns I catch a glimpse of how the north used to be. Stone cottages sit in narrow valleys; the hills climbing hundreds of feet behind them. Here, ancient walls have outlasted the towns they once protected. Herons and foxes occupy this narrow window of wilderness.

Everything here seems to flow in unison. Rivers and walls, canals and train-tracks all carve a parallel path through Old Lancashire. I am approaching Hebden Bridge. A small station with organised walls, and  roofing that could have been stripped right off a greenhouse. Black signs fixed with pristine, white lettering denote the locations of general rooms and parcel offices. Wooden buckets in the centres of the two platforms play host to freshly planted flowers. They bring a little colour and chaos, interrupting the OCD-signage and alphabetised brickwork.

Finding a seat on a minorly-crowded train is a nightmare for the chronically unsociable. There should be a checklist provided to us for safe seating arrangements. Seating arrangements that will see us suffering as few interruptions and embarrassing back-and-forths as possible.

• Where possible, find a window-seat facing forward - with no neighbour
• If unavailable, resort to a similar, backward-facing seat
• Avoid areas for bikes, prams and wheelchairs
• Avoid tables - three potential neighbours are worse than one

Unfortunately, I settled for the third option. Now sat at the rear of a carriage where there is space for prams and wheelchairs. Making the best of a bad situation, I took the window seat in order to scout upcoming platforms for pesky disabled children and single mothers who might usurp me.

Bradford Interchange is where it happened. One of the few stations whose platform I could not recce, as it's at the opposite side of the train. A 20-something mother boards with a bright pink buggy, which she crams against my legs. I hesitate for a moment, a shy rabbit destined for the pie. Not wishing to be squashed against a window, shins covered in pram-bruises, I offered my chair to the mother. "Here, you take these seats, I'll find another." I would say more but already the cogs in her head are turning - "that's not a local accent" she's thinking, "'e's not from 'round 'ere" she will inevitably conclude, at which point the Yorkshire hivemind will activate and two tweed-clad moustachioed Yorkshiremen will hoist me up and eject me from the train. We were over an hour into the journey and nobody suspected I was an imposter. I had gained their trust and was not about to jeopardise it. Instead I wandered off to the next carriage, found no seat that met my new list of criteria and ended up sat in a fold-down chair between two carriages, where the bikes are meant to live. I'm not sure what was worse, the awkward fear of encountering an errant cyclist, or the smell of piss coming from the adjacent W.C.

Image Owner: Ingy the Wingy

Pause. Reflect.

Only 4pm... I've already been awake 12 hours.

The tossing and turning exam stress induces makes sleep difficult. While there's nothing but jitters and nervous anticipation on the surface, you feel your insides churning.
We're past that now - free of stress and life changing responsibility for another five months. Exams are in the past and I'm returning north. The stone towers of the city recede, submitting to hills and valleys doused in white. Snowfall has left my home looking somewhat pretty. It's funny how acres can change in a day's absence.

It's difficult to write about the snow. Within itself, it is an empty canvas - blank as the page I'm trying to fill. There's nothing to be inspired by the pale hills, nor the frozen sky. All they do is reflect. Amongst this icy uniform I find the time to breathe, appreciating that winter's stress is behind me. I will need these few days to gather my thoughts, recuperate and brace myself for the onslaught.

When all is said and done, life is reduced to this - a series of struggles. Interrupted only by preparation for the next.

If, by chance, I am not arming and readying myself - I'm already out in the fray.

Image Owner: Emersonreference

Wanders

Typical, really.

I sat down to do some work for university (in this case writing up a presentation on biofilm formation and signalling - I know...) and I haven't got very far. I suppose it's my own fault for putting on some 'folkier' music to listen to while working. For me folk music has this habit of dragging my mind, or my imagination at least, off to pictures of dense forests and stormy skies. It's interesting that simple songs can have such a profound effect. A few bars in and I am all set to pack a bag and venture into the valleys and hills of the North.

And so, because I cannot focus on molecular bacteriology, I feel I should do something constructive with my time. Next Summer I intend on travelling - starting an adventure of sorts. To bring you up to speed I will be heading North, and that's the only decision I have made. I suppose a route or schedule would be beneficial but I haven't got so far yet. I also need to start looking at the clothes and kit a 'would-be adventurer' is going to require. While a lot of people would look at all the organising as laborious, I love it. Every time I research a town to pass through I feel invigorated. Each purchase, be it simply socks or a rucksack, reminds me that my journey is growing ever closer.

Normally I am quite content to wait it out - yet there are always times like this. The clocks have gone back, plunging the North into long nights of thrashing rain and blustering gales. Outside, temperatures struggle to keep above freezing, and all around I can see flora dying back and withering away. But despite the weather and the darkness I sit here comfortable in the knowledge that things will look better soon. If I just ride out the Winter, the environment will become more welcoming. And I feel it is music like this - folk music with fiddles and long, deep chords that takes my attention beyond winter, to the next Summer in the North. These songs make me restless - encouraging that itch to pack up and run.

Tonight will be spent behind the bar. Pulling pints, serving patrons and resisting this itch.

Image Owner: Steve Bruce

Entropy

For those who read my blog, you may recall a post I wrote last month entitled 'The eye of the storm'. The post discussed how life can become very loud, busy and difficult on a whim - and that you should appreciate the fleeting moments of calm. Low and behold, last week life got hectic again. My time has been taken by a whole host of events;

• Crises of faith
• Family problems
• Friend problems
• Writing for other publications
• Managing a pub

Trust me, the list goes on. Thankfully I am working through a lot of this and have stolen away enough time to keep posting here.

Recently, a few friends have been having troubles. I'm sure you can relate. One day, out of the blue, a friend comes to you saying 'oh, my life is terrible. Nothing is working out.' We've all been there, and we all know how it feels to have the world against us. Over the years, as friends and family have presented this outlook to me, I have looked for a way to help and put their fears into perspective. This is my method of dealing with things when life gets to be a bit too much. 

Imagine all the good things in life in a pile. Your friends, your family, your passions and successes - these all make up the good pile. Then consider all the bad things. All the debt, health problems, upset and loss - these all make up the bad pile. In times of crisis the bad pile can be enormous; almost too large to bear. Heck, next to the bad pile, your good pile is a speck of dust at times. However, and this is the important part, these two piles do not influence one another. No matter how large the bad pile is, it does not diminish the good things you have. Those good things are no less special, uplifting or life-changing.

Of course this outlook works the other way. Should your problems be few and your 'good pile' be overwhelming - the bad pile is still important. It is still significant, and it should still be addressed. What I stress is this;

Add to the good pile, and chip away at the bad pile.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Horizons

Name: Samuel

Age: 20

Passion:...

Interesting, isn't it? How no CV, job application or interview asks for your passion in life. While each wants to get to know you, they all manage to miss this most important question. Instead they tend to focus on the academic achievements of your youth, and the hobbies you keep presently."Why yes, I got three As in my exams, and my hobbies include golfing and walking the dog." 

Quite unfortunate really...

It is unfortunate because this is not the measure of a person. You are so much more than this. What I feel truly defines you, is your passion in life. Everybody has a passion. An aspect of the world which fulfils them. An aspect that acts as a driving force and as a foundation for dreams. I place great importance in passion. It is neither a letter on the page, nor, necessarily, a socially accepted past-time. Your passion can be anything - any aspect of the world you please. It is not defined by culture. Nor by race, religion or social standing. The only criterion your passion requires is your full and undivided enthusiasm and enjoyment.

My passion in life, I am sure you are dying to know, is travelling. I look out of my window and can picture the rolling hills, rocky crags and dense forests that lie beyond the horizon. More than that, I picture myself exploring them. Journeying and adventuring. And nothing makes me happier. The feeling of elation is one you'll fully understand if you too have discovered your passion in life. I find myself, on occasion, wishing I was born elsewhere. Somewhere more rugged and rural. Somewhere with lakes and woods, rather than takeaways and pubs - that would be ideal. Honestly, I do not feel I will be completely happy until I can spend the majority of my life travelling, and exploring my passion.

It has started raining...

While I enjoy the sound of rain thudding off my window, I cannot help but think about those distant fields and forests. It will be raining there too. More than that, it will be pouring - and the wind will howl. The storm, so easily deflected at home, will bear down on these wild places. And I long to be there, experiencing.

I sincerely hope that you can relate to this feeling. That you too are this passionate about something - anything. I hope that you have found your passion and drive in life. If you have not, then remember...

...it is out there.

Image Owner: daylong

Shoulders of Giants

There is a simple joy in cycling. It reminds me of a time, not long since passed. A time of lazy days, quiet villages and empty roads. So, as I cycled the ten miles out into the countryside, I felt conflicted. You see, every overhanging tree and chirping songbird was ruined by spluttering exhausts and noxious fumes. The horses and carts have given way to horsepower and burning rubber. Despite the journey's mixed signals - of gorgeous flowers and choking exhaust vapours, I reached my friend's home feeling upbeat.

The reason for my excursion? An adventure.

I was to stay the night at my friend's home. In the morning we would meet with others and head across the county border to explore Brimham Rocks - an area full of unique and precarious rock formations. And this, dear reader, is what we did.

Now, Brimham Rocks is unique. Awe inspiring and interesting. It is a place of history and heritage, a landmark of sorts. Having said that, boys will be boys - and boys like to climb big rocks. Hence, the day was spent climbing, negotiating, and jumping between the site's formations. I was also reminded of an obscure fear, a compulsion of mine. And I was reminded whilst atop a 40ft high rock. Don't fret, it's not a fear of heights - it is much worse.

I fear to be on top of tall structures, because I feel a compulsion to throw myself off.

It's a peculiar feeling. To look over the edge, straight down 40 feet and think to yourself "What if I were to jump?" As much as I try to rationalise my thoughts, it is still there - the voice in the back of my mind. "Go on Sam, we've never jumped off something so high before, let's see what will happen." I know what would happen, but I have to climb down. I have to climb back down because the longer I am up there, the greater the compulsion to throw both caution, and myself, to the wind. I am sure there are others in a similar boat. Others who occasionally hear a mischievous voice whispering in their ear, convincing them to go against sensibility and rationality. While you want to silence it, this voice howls and wails until the opportunity it saw has passed. So I climb down, and let the opportunity for a spectacular and ill-equipped skydive pass.

If there's a take-home message, or pearl of wisdom in my brief  adventure, it is the sense of achievement. In a world increasingly occupied by video games, and convenient living, a sense of achievement is easy to come by. What I rediscovered, while choosing to conquer 40 feet of shapeless sediment, was this -

Aim high, and achieve for yourself. While anyone can 'stand on the shoulders of giants', it is a greater feat to climb up there in the first place.

Image Owner: Stephanie (Violet Danger)

Beyond

Q) Have you ever considered running?
A) Every day of my life...

An abundance of events warrant you wanting to run away. Unfortunately, most are quite negative. Whether you have lost a loved one, or let someone down, it is natural to feel like escaping. Running off - impossibly fast and indescribably far...

But, those are discussions we can save for another time. Today we are in a brighter mood.

At least once a day I consider leaving. It may be over breakfast, or while I am in the shower - but at least once a day I consider it. Retreating back into my mind, I list the pros and cons of packing a bag, kissing goodbye and venturing off, into the unknown.

Pros - Complete freedom. Adventure. People to meet and places to go. A plethora of villages, forests, rivers and hills to explore...

Cons - Money. Lack of food and shelter. No security. Time without my loved ones...

Every day I seriously weigh up the options - playing it out in my head. And every day I say to myself "not today Sam... But one day." Well let me tell you, 'one day' cannot come soon enough. You see, this want to travel is an itch. You can try to ignore it - put it at the back of your mind, forget for a while. But every time you delay your journey, or ignore the itch, it becomes louder. As each day passes, you become more convinced that the itch needs scratching. That you need to escape your comfort zone, into the wide world beyond.

The journey I dream about is not a cheap holiday, nor a week away. This journey seems grander. Starting at the front door, with a bag and tent, I will walk. It requires neither planning nor direction, but could take months to complete. I do not know for how long I would be gone, and I don't know where my travels would take me...

But that is the fun, isn't it?

I sincerely hope that you can relate. That you too have thought of running. Of leaving behind your comfort zone, and your possessions, in order to experience something more. Something unique, and personally remarkable...

Image Owner: Cindy's Here