Alcoholic constipation

A condition that many people suffered from in their late teens and early twenties, especially in the UK in the late 1980’s early 90’s; where the cultural consumption of alcohol seemed to explode as the nations disposable income increased and even if it didn’t for you, then having a pint seemed like a good way to console yourself! Alcoholic constipation was born – the inability to pass a pub – without stopping off for a pint!

It was around this time, whilst down on my luck, that I bumped into a chap called Victor Budris, oddly enough in a bookies, in Scarborough. He explained to me that he was heading off to Jersey to pick potatoes to fund his lager lifestyle. The rest as they say, especially if you have read my past post, is history.

A Young Persons Railcard, the key to a half price train and ferry ticket to Jersey, was all I needed to head off into the glaring sun as I headed south.  About 20 hours after setting off I arrived in the land of plenty. Unfortunately my meagre savings and the recent expense of travel left me with less than £5 in my pocket and the prospect of a pint was still over 7 miles (12 Km) away. I later learned that we couldn’t have found a more distant pub in the Island from our starting location, but the calling of a tax free beverage and the possibility of gaining employment was the only incentive I needed to make the hike.

Why the long walk for a pint? Victor explained to me that if we arrived at the pub (the La Ralais de Mielles) around tea time then all the farmers would be popping in for a pint after a hard days toil in the fields; this would be an ideal time to say those immortal words ‘gizza job’ and thus find gainful employment as tuber excavators. As a plan it seemed a bit loose, but Victor had three seasons under his belt so I went along with him; what did I have to lose other than my remaining £5 and some boot leather.

Of course the plan worked, my pint cost me less than 50p and we both had jobs within 20 minutes of walking into the pub, not to mention accommodation which, although basic, covered the essentials for survival in a distant southern Island.

For the season of ‘87 The Ralais, our shortened version of La Ralais de Mielles, became a second home, along with The Bell Tap, The Marina, Sands, The Forge, The Watersplash and Les Sables d’Or; yes you guessed it I had started to suffer from alcoholic constipation, and as I returned to Jersey again for my winter break I thought I would visit some of the old dispensaries.

As is often the case in this modern world of finance, the developers have moved in and little remains of the hostelries that I used to frequent; still the pictures are a god introduction of the countryside and architecture of this wartime German stronghold; more of which on another post.

 

 

Nuts, lumps, bumps and pumps

I know, I know, it’s a while since I posted; what can I say!

Events as ever have moved us (me) in unexpected directions and all I can do is try and stick to the road and hope that I don’t pick up too many points on my license on the way! And whilst this brief account of recent events only scratches the surface these are certainly the highlights.

Nuts: I reckon about 50Kg, maybe more; it’s very hard to tell for sure, but the plastic trays and cardboard boxes that littered the floor of the house indicated a good harvest of walnuts.

It almost seemed to happen overnight, the cold air crept in, the wind kicked up, the rain came down and the nuts began to fall; at times it was almost dangerous to be under the half dozen walnut tress, that we inherited with the land, for fear of concussion.  This windfall also coincided with the annual mushroom hunting season and the pear trees lightening their load, so my morning walk with the dogs often saw me returning with a bucket full of walnuts, mushrooms and pears, even the occasional chilli; as well as two well exercised dogs after a good long outing.

Lumps: One thing you can be certain of when you are building a straw bale house is that you will always have lumps in your clay, although our tactic of using refined clay from the brick factory has taken quite a bit of work out of the whole process, it can still resemble a badly made industrial strength custard on occasion. Needless to say that we ploughed on with the rendering of the house with clay slip and then clay render, lumps and all,; firstly with the help of friends of ours that stayed on after the wedding and then with new volunteer Sam and a return visit from volunteer and friend Paul. Many thanks to all involved. Gosia and I even managed to finish the first and second coat on the second floor before the cold snap crept in and everybody had gone home the the relative and respective warmth of Ireland, Scotland and England.

Bumps: Whilst the pictures may not show, the reality of living flesh clearly indicates that Gosia is with child! I know this seems all very sudden and the thought of shotguns may be in some peoples minds, but the wedding was planned, unlike the bump, and no one was struck down by lightening at the alter despite the countries high religious values. I have to say that we are both delighted and excited, especially me as I will have an addition to the workforce in three or four years time! But with only four months to go until out little girl is born, a new urgency is upon us to get the house habitable as soon as possible, certainly for next winter.

Pumps: Of course we knew the news quite a while ago, so much so that I put a few feelers out for work at the wedding, and as luck would have it a job offer came my way from long time friends of ours back in Jersey. I have to say that this has turned out far better than I could have imagined as not only do I have a job at the local petrol station, I’m also lodging with my new boss for the winter just 500 yards away from work. A full shift plus ‘special projects’ to keep me occupied is exactly what I needed to fund the heating system and keep me occupied whilst returning to my old home of Jersey. Having spent so much of my adult life here I still have affection for this small Island in the Channel and I hope to post a few pictures of my favourite spots whilst I visit.

So there you go, a brief account of the last month or so, filling in, but leaving many gaps for my later recollection. I would of course tap on the keyboard a little longer and I hope to do so soon, but for now my job is done, I have at last updated the blog; I can sleep well tonight 🙂

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My new desktop, to keep me motivated whilst working over the winter.

Planes, trains, automobiles, bikes and a bus

A lift from Hawes to Skipton, a bus from Skipton to Crosshills, a lift from Crosshills to Cowling, a lift from Cowling to Manchester, a plane from Manchester to Amsterdam, a train to Beverwijk, a bike ride to Heemskerk, a bike ride back along with a train or two to Amsterdam, back on a plane to Kracow, a train to Debica and finally a lift back to Rzemien.

Thankfully all this traveling was broken up into bite size pieces, I say bite sized as food seemed to punctuate the gaps in my journey 🙂

My first treat was in Skipton and a Stanforths pork pie warm from the oven; memories of stopping for a two pie and a pint of milk breakfast on the way to work  came back to me with the taste of the molten gelatine. Eating a warm pork pie is an art in itself, especially if you don’t want to end up with greasy fingers and evidence of this guilty pleasure displayed down the front of your chest; the secret is to bite off a bit of the top crust creating an exit route for the juices to be drunk from, only once the liquid is cleared can you get down to the serious business of devouring the pies contents,  but I was taught this lesson well as Stanfords was the first pit stop of the day on our way to site with my mentors as I trained as an electrician at the tender age of sixteen.  It’s a career that didn’t last, as the government sponsored Youth Training Scheme stopped funding after twelve months, and I guess I failed to impress my employers enough for them to start paying me a wage; however I have some great memories of that time, not just  how to eat pork pies 🙂 (job number one for thoses counting)

On to Cowling and my second sisters house, busy as ever with her dogs and her boarding kennel business, I was lucky enough to be treated to a Chinese take away; probably the first I’ve had in more than two years, possibly even longer, and I have to admit that it tasted good; too good if I’m honest! Although only a brief visit I enjoyed my time in Cowling; I had made the journey over a few times in the last couple of months but the distance between my siblings made it hard work to spread myself about. We did manage to fit in one evening when we were all together, the first time for a long time, and I hope I have convinced them to come down in the summer months to see a bit of Poland.

Arriving in Amsterdam, I was quick to buy my train ticket and jump on; research on the internet armed me with enough information to make it look like I knew what I was doing; except for when I had to ask where track number 7 was, of course I was standing next to the sign with a big 7 and an arrow pointing down as I asked the question! This journey left me in Beverwijk and I was met with the lovely smiling face of Gosia; the timing could not have been better as she had just finished work as I arrived and we chatted, giggled and acted like teenagers as we took the short walk to her flat. I say her flat, in fact it is shared with nine other Polish women who were all eager to meet me, I think I was quite a novelty; not only was I male I was also English! The meet and greet soon turned into an open invitation for food and as it was Easter the girls had come together as a group and prepared a true feast of Polish delights. In fact the variety of dishes became our food for the next three days as we where successively invited back for the remaining meals of my short stay.

The hotel I had booked in Heemskerk was about a fifteen minute cycle, just as well as it helped to burn off some of the excess, and we headed off there in the evenings to indulge ourselves in the luxury of the full length bath, large double bed and thermostatically controlled heating!

After cycling back for breakfast the next morning we took a short walk to the covered Turkish market; on entering you are immediately hit by the eastern music competing for business along with the stall holders, and you could easily be swept away into a dream that you had just entered a market in Turkey. You could literally buy anything, from toothpaste to a tagine, record players to rugs, but for me the most impressive vendors where those selling spices. Piled high with low prices, full of colour, scent and all fronted by enthusiastic stall holders inviting you to buy from them in several languages until they spotted some recognition in your face and honed in for the sell.

As we were in the Amsterdam area we had arranged to pop in and see some friends who live there; a Polish- English couple but the other way around; i.e. he is Polish and she is English. They have lived in Amsterdam for over fifteen years and they are also renovating a house in Poland, about half an hours drive from where we are building our house; we were introduced last year and we have become good friends. A brunch of pancakes with various toppings set us up for a walk through the park and onto the city centre, after a quick tour of the studio they run and some of the community projects they are involved in. We are looking forward to seeing them again in May when they will be back in Poland.

The trip back to Poland was almost scuppered as the plane was delayed by two hours, then four and finally six hours! Thankfully someone in the accounts office must have done the sums on how much compensation they were going to have to pay out and a standby plane was wheeled out of the hanger and they delay was reduced back to two hours; just long enough for me to spend the free lunch voucher that was dished out for the inconvenience.

My train journey from Krakow to Debica was not without event, but I think I’ll pop that in my next post; an open letter to the Minister for Tourism in Poland 🙂

And finally, before this post gets far too long; Gosia jumped on a coach about six hours after I left and arrived back home the next day, her career in dissecting orchids was cut short due to a misunderstanding with the management! Hooray 🙂