In my late teens, in the guise of being a Venture Scout, I travelled to Norway.

Our expedition, from Bergen to Voss, had been planned weeks in advance, each days walking and mileage measured and written down. We had opted for a day in the mountains to begin with, followed by some steadier walking. Half way through the first days walking we hit a snag, a six lane motorway which was not shown on the map (we later discovered that the maps had been drawn up by the US Air Force in 1955).

The resulting detour pushed us miles out of the way, we entered the mountains in a different valley, but, we followed close to our group motto, taken from the Scout bible P.O.R., Press On Regardless.

By early evening a fog had descended, at the ruins (well, semi-ruins) of a mountain shack we decided to camp, and, having such a ready source of fuel to hand, we had a fire. I may not have mentioned my pyromaniac tendencies before, but one thing leads to another and so soon we had built not so much a bonfire as a conflagration.

We had assumed that we were miles from anywhere, imagine our surprise then when a young couple appeared not two hundred yards away, with a dog. Imagine also their surprise, on their regular evening walk with Karsten (typical dogs name in Norway I am told) they find an orange haired (I'll explain some other time) loon with a dubious Mexican bandit style moustache and a cut off Megadeth t-shirt has just burned the old mountain shelter to the ground.

We spent the rest of the night fully expecting the police to arrive at any moment, they did not, but the Norwegians had planned a much nastier punishment, later that week, they made us eat Fiskeboller.

You have been involved in a shameful online RPG,
and your soul will never be clean. You've
soiled the memory of a dead author and
neglected yourself and other human beings for
months at a time; there is no way to make up
for this. The Lord has turned His eyes from you
forever!

Keep back, you utter trash!


Why Will You Go To Hell?
brought to you by Quizilla

Oh dear, I've been found out.

Budge Pountney confirms the old joke that rugby is a game for men with odd shaped balls.

Ok, so at least the site is running, the archives have gone off in to the aether, maybe a kindly Australian can help me. Now then, this could be a clean start for me, I've got a new site counter and so far not one hit for undressed singers (mind you, that'll change if the archives come back), anyway, some time ago, John, who lives under a stone, claimed not to know who Michelle Trachtenberg is, well, here she is......

I swear, and have done repeatedly, that was so bloody difficult. I don't know what is going on with Blogger.com, I can't seem to post to the old site on Blogspot so I can't redirect from there, ho hum. Anyway, while I try to sort this mess out go and hang out with Elftor and Cheesetor, make sure you check out thier fun drinking game.

If you can read this I have run away to........yorkshiresoul.org

Test post, as nothing at all worked yesterday.

Oh good grief, now I can't get anything working, is it me ? Is it blogger ?

Aaargh.

Bloody ftp.

Ok, I found the archives, and hopefuly the background and Yorkshire roses, do tell me if you can't see any of this, still some resizing needed and all the Shout Outs have run away, don't know if I can fix that, that's enough for now as my brain is melting, I'll change the site over to its new domain at Yorkshiresoul.org on Tuesday, probably, if I can work out the FTP instructions.

Riiiiiiiiiiiight. So, everything is too close together, all the pictures and backgrounds have vanished, and the archives have fled to safer climes, just about what I expected then.

Hi there, I might be a little quiet over the weekend, I'm trying to change the look of the site (cue much swearing), and also, Yorkshiresoul will be moving to Yorkshiresoul.org sometime next week.

The real problem with going to war with Saddam is neatly summed up in this posted by Yorkshire Soul at 11:03 AM  

Oops, I'm certain that Wednesdays link should have featured another frightening tranny, and not 'Mr M With The Munching Mouth', oh well. I grabbed all the images from the very wonderful Sixsixfive.com, go have a play, there's a world of weirdness to be explored. I was going to post another Fat Goths are Always Funny link, then I noticed that this portly pale one is wearing the outfit I wore at my wedding, cheeky bastard, no sniggering at the back now. Here is the tranny from yesterday.

Wednesday, January 22, 2003

Yesterdays post seemed to indicate that many YS readers were transgender friendly (in some cases, very friendly) individuals, well, it's time to test your limits, what about this, or even this, have fun now boys!

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

Good lord, I have just spent £365, on two pairs of glasses. Bloody con those 'BOGOF' adverts are, my prescription is so bad I even have to pay for the lenses in the first pair. Anyway, let's cheer ourselves up with a quick visit to this, the most beautiful man I have ever seen, or to this fat goths are always funny.

Monday, January 20, 2003

The Times published a report over the weekend concerning the importation of cat and dog pelts for making fur coats. 10-12 adult dogs will be killed to make one fur coat, more if puppies, whilst up to 24 cats are needed to somplete one jacket. This set me thinking, I would never have thrown the little buggers in the canal tied to a brick if I had known they were worth money.

Grandfather has been ranting about George Dubbya's insanity for some time now,
"Providing mini-cabs for insects, is the man insane?" he bellowed the other week. It has taken me some time to decipher this rather odd comment but now I have to offer Grandfather some advice...........turn up the bloody volume Grandfather, George Bush did not say "Taxis for Weevils."

So who got useless Yorkshire captain Darren Lehman so upset then.......
Ramyertongerdownmathroata 8-11
Starvaratortwo 14-1
Geewhatawanker 7-2
Russel Arnold 20-1

Sunday, January 19, 2003

I have been helping Brian and Terry in their hunt for Yorkshire based terrorists. I must now admit I may have caused some confusion at the curry house last week. Having drawn blank and/or hostile stares from the staff I would like to point out that what I said to the waiter was a food/cost based question rather than an accusation of culinary terrorism, enunciate clearly now.....
"Do you get rice in with the curry ?"

On occaision, I pop on to the Kerrang message boards, it always makes me chuckle at the way people use odd, descriptive signatures such as Antony Kiedis' Tattoo's, Kerry Kings Plectrum or Russel Grants Knitted Cardy (OK, so probably not that last one), they try to allude to possessing similar artistic/physical attributes to the person so named, all cobblers of course,
yours,
John Holmes' Third Leg

Oh goody, Buffy has started again. With Sarah Michelle Gellar not signing a new contract this is obviously going to be a changeover series, prepping Dawn to be Slayer ? I was going to blab on about how gorgeous Michelle Trachtenberg is, but can I just point out (shades of Canadian singers here), she's gorgeous for a 15 year old, good, that's that sorted then.

I bought the new(ish) System Of A Down album this week, well you can't go shopping for friends birthdays without giving yourself a little treat now can you ? There has been a lot of comment on how relevant "Steal This Album" is, rumours abound that most of the songs were written at the same time as the first, self titled album, this shows when in one anti-war track Serge and the boys have a go at Maggie Thatcher. Boys, don't you know the Iron Lady isn't in charge any more, George Bush runs the show now.

Saturday, January 18, 2003

People cheating on Hot Or Not, I'm almost certain you are not supposed to flash your pussy.

Arooga! Arooga! What am I talking about ? Didn't you see Sharron Davies on They Think It's All Over last night, I know she's not half as funny as David Gower, but who cares, what an uber babe. I'll have to make space for her, and Ms Christina Aguilera very bendy person, on my top ten dinner guest list, hmmm, who to drop though ? Fancy having the name of your favourite celebrity totty spelled out in naked people ?, and why not, it's possibly just the wrong side of worksafe though.

Friday, January 17, 2003

The thing about movies is, they don't always portray people in the right light, in the case of LOTR they generally portray Sauron in a very bad light indeed, and let me tell you, he isn't very happy about it.(Contr. by Paul M)

What's going on here ? Is it an anti-war protest, is it much more cerebral than that? It is very pretty and extremely well animated, do tell me if you watch/play further than the floating black bubbles sequence.

Here's some more frippery that might amuse you, thrashing to death the old Hot Or Not formula is Rate my Pooch, why not combine that with one of yesterdays links for 'My Pooch would look best......under the grill.............in a casserole..............flambeed in brandy.'

Thursday, January 16, 2003

You may know I'm not really a pet lover, and that I will willingly eat almost anything that strays across my path, but I do draw the line at strays, even if their cute little kitty livers are sauteed with onion marmalade. Penguins on the other hand, I'd eat penguins, especially moderately evil ones.

I've done some pretty stupid stuff when drunk, but never have I managed to freeze my penis to a bus shelter, I particularly like the part when "A large crowd gathered, shouting helpful suggestions".

Wahey, I passed, feel free to fall over, walk in to things, jump under moving vehicles and lacerate yourselves, at which point I will say....
"That needs an ambulance that does."
On a serious note, it is nice to know that 22 good Yorkshire folk were willing to give up a week in order to learn how to look after their fellow human beings, it's a nice feeling knowing that these people are out there somewhere, and if you are injured, they will phone an ambulance for you. On another serious note, Nigel is still a twat.

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

A Short Cyber Story
What's this ? A diary. A diary of a dope fiend. It's 1996, I forget the month but I know what day it is, it is the day we were supposed to take the family trip. Won't be happening now, there's a black orchid, a crypt orchid, on the table, the attached card reads "To the everlasting cocksucker", she has a way with words my ex. Fair enough I suppose, I used to call her the organ grinder.

My name is Kinderfeld, I'm a One-Eye, a Cyclops, what they used to call a private eye, sort of, my dogma is go get your gun, and for the bad guys, it's the last day on earth.

I hate mornings, I don't sleep, I fall in to coma, coma black when I'm using, coma white when I'm not, which isn't often. In the mornings I feel dissasociative, there are no sweet dreams for me. I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, another minute of decay, I feel dried up. Dried up, tied up and dead to the world, but work calls.

My sweet tooth for the white trash isn't hurting yet, my monkey isn't yet on my back. I leave the tourniquet, needles and candle by the bed and leave for the cold, harsh light of day. For a moment out on the crowded street I almost feel born again, the pain of being born posthuman lessens for a moment. I brought my lunch box, wrapped in plastic inside are my legal pills, the ones that say "May cause discolouration of the urine and faeces", charming, nut enough to get me out in to the great big, white world for a day.

Newscreens flicker headlines, "President Dead!", didn't catch where, might be ours. I stop of at Kiddie Grinder for breakfast. Eddie behind the counter is the sickest man I have seen, but he sells everything, scabs, guns and peanut butter, that's Eddie Grinder. I walk in at the speed of pain, snake eyes and sissies alike check me out, the local turf gang are all here, Wormboy, Little Horn and the rest, none over 14, you've got to feel some sympathy for the parents.

"Hey mister superstar," Wormboy drawls.
"You even look at me" I snarl. "I'll find you a nice place in the dirt."
"Easy man," he shrinks back into his seat. "No violence on Valentines day". Shit, I forgot, but I didn't come here to do the dance of the dope hats with the nobodies.
"Information Wormboy, I'm hunting mechanical animals, specifically the new model #15 from the Reflecting God corporation."

Now Wormboy likes two things, cake and sodomy, I've got a little crack cake but they'll be playing the death song for me before I indulge in the latter. I show him the cake, I don't like the drugs, but they have hold of me, him too, when I'm wearing my dope hat rather than my cyclops hat they're singing the love song to me.

"I don't know," he says.
"You better remember, you know my score, you know how many I've done, say it."
"Kill 33 man," he says, he is starting to sweat.
"Say it properly," I growl, reaching for my gun.
"King Kill 33," he almost screams. That's me, 33 confirmed kills, King of the street, the man that you fear.
"Who took it ?" I ask all nice and calm.
"Antichrist superstar, fucking Antichrist took it." Wormboy is sobbing, "He's gonna fucking kill me."
"You, Wormboy, are fundamentally loathsome," I give him the cake, "You and al your disposable teens."

I scan the menu, it's all shitty, "Chicken gang bang" I say to Eddie. He gives me my bag of fried chicken, things. They look like the hands of small children, I need food, but I'd rather have the crack cake I gave Wormboy. On the way out I kick the Wurlitzor, the current Deformography track kicks in, ha, rock is dead, I should know, I killed it.

Antichrist hangs out at the Fall of Adam. Before entering I fumble with my weapon, the damn thing isn't exactly user friendly. This is a bad place for me, I feel like the sacrificial lamb of god, I'm walking in to the shadow of the valley of death, and inside he's waiting, he's beautiful, like and angel, but an angel with scabbed wings of evil , he smiles.

"Come to sing the fight song?" he asks.
"Only if I have to, where is it?." I look at him, he seems hyped up, and I'm coming down fast, the two of us are opposite ends of the dope show.
"Come on Kinderfeld, we're the best, let's duke it out, it's god eat god time." He's speaking this for the benefit of his target audience, his gang members who have emerged from the shadows around us.
"It's the same old irresponsible hate anthem," I reply. "We don't have to do this."
"I'm putting you through the misery machine Kinder, I am going to be King Kill." As he says this my arms feel heavy and lifeless, I realise that I have dropped the gun.
"I put a spell on you," he gloats. Idiot, should have sen that one coming.
"I'm going to kill you real slow, a crucifixion." In space and time I'm falling, he's hit me with a good spell, I can't fight it. Dimly I hear another voice. The gun.

"Count to six and die, mother fucker." A shot.

Later, outside, the burning flag of Antichrist at my feet, King Kill 34 I am, loved by no-one, feared by all, I hum a song. Maybe rock isn't dead after all, Kinderfeld, King Kill, the rock and rock nigger, goes home.

(Authors note - hands up when you knew what this was ?)

Do your life long friends still have the capacity to surprise you ?

For example, would you be surprised to learn that between 1963 - 1965 I was captain (and top points scorer) of the Indian National Women's Kabadi Team ?

The course is going well, I haven't killed anybody yet, let me introduce you to some of the inmates, we have..........
Joe - Gary McCallister lookalike
Emily - Waif like pixie office girl
Paul - the Wigan printer
Rachel - the insurance advisor
Danni - the ex-army medic!
Rachel - the clothes horse
And because every training course has to have one...........Nigel the Twat. (6 years in Army Medical Corps, been there done that, in the forces we always did it this way, oh yes we bandaged his finger then we noticed he'd been shot between the eyes), Nigel might pass the test, he also might meet a cricket bat at the next coffee break.

I can't spend all my time blogging you know, I'm learning how to save lives, but don't get injured until Friday because I am not qualified until then, oh, and if you do get injured, try not to make it a sucking chest wound as frankly they make me feel ill.

Sunday, January 12, 2003

I haven't had a go at the Ilkley Gusset for a while. Paul Denbow reviews Gangs of New York in this weeks copy. The film, he says, is set in the violent New York of 1864, some bad things happen, the film then jumps forwards a few years to 1862, whoa, you lost me there Paul, is this a time travel film then ? Is it some spill over effect from too much Stephen Baxter ?
In the film Leonardo Di Caprio has supposedly been in prison for 15 years, well look at him, they must have sent him down as a toddler for crimes against soft toys, he still doesn't look old enough to get served in my bar. He made Kate Winslet look like a pedophile in Titanic.

Posting is going to be a bit difficult next week, I'm doing the St. John's 1st aid course from Mon to Thurs, over in sunny Bradford, and I have to be there at 9am every morning, through the nightmare rush hour traffic on Manningham Lane, what joy.

I was reading a little of John Saywells meticulously researched history of Ilkley Golf Club, there have been 29 stewards (the book was published in 1990 so it is a little out dated) since the clubs inception in 1890, I habe been here nearly two full years and already I have lasted longer than 14 of the previous incumbents. Best of all were a Mr & Mrs Robinson who lasted for, and I quote, "3 days or so" in the spring of 1971!

Saturday, January 11, 2003

I have just finished my second book of the year (I write 'em real quick), Manifold:Space by the utterley wonderful Stephen Baxter. This is proper Sci-fi, none of that nasty Star Wars shite. Space, which is book 2 in the Manifold Sequence, has most of the same characters from Time, which is a little odd as I seem to recall the cosmos exploded at the end of that one, hey ho. At the end of Space I still have not worked out whether it is set hundreds of millions of years after Time, when humanity has once again evolved, or whether it the event at the end of book one changed the perception of time iteslf, or it might be in an alternate timeline. I thought that Manifold:Space got bogged down a little in the middle, there was a little too much emphasis on wheeling galaxies, eliptic orbits and gamma ray bursters, but once past that the plot fairly rockets along. The first jump forwards in time, a trifling matter of some hundreds of years, is as nothing when later in the book you are suddenly plunged five thousand years in to humanities future.

Here is a good review of Manifold:Space by David Soyka. Although it claims in the review that Manifold is to be a trilogy (I have Manifold:Origin in my sweaty palms at the moment), I saw this on the bookshelves on my last book raid............

That would be a trilogy of four then, some details on Phase Space here, a review of Manifold:Origin, and a review of Manifol:Time here.

That's all out of order isn't it, ok, it runs Time - Space - Origin - Phase Space.

What Monty Python Holy Grail Quest Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

What is the oddest thing you have ever had to buy in order to get change for the parking meter ? In Leeds the other day I ended up with a "Buy Two Oyster Sauce, Get a Tung Chun Spicy Bean Sauce Free", all this because Chinese supermarkets don't seem to sell chewing gum.

Friday, January 10, 2003

I haven't posted any dating stuff in a while, and it has occurred to me that there might be one or two lonely folk out there, lonely single Jewish folk for example. But how can you be sure that people you meet on the net are who they say they are, fear not, these enterprising folk will provide you with a complete and comprehensive background check on the person of your choice. Do have a look at the 'Internet Horror Stories' section on this page, Story 9 in particular, Fred mate, this is what happens when you date Lancastrians.

No blog yesterday due to an imminent visit by the secret police, or EHO (Environmental Health Officer), so I had to spend the morning doing all the things that chefs usually do in advance of such visits, pulling dead mice out of the flour bins, scraping the mold off the cheddar and throwing out anything that had actually evolved during its stay in the fridge. All went went though and I got the best inspection record that I have managed in my working life, so at least if the food is crap, it was prepared in a clean kitchen.

Wednesday, January 08, 2003

A day off yesterday, went to see LOTRTTT again, just as good as the first time, if not better. Now, although I still don't in principle agree with having elves at Helms Deep, I am willing to forgive. What is unforgivable though is the pointless gumph when Aragorn falls in to the river and drifts off, only, gosh, he returns just in time for the battle. That could have been cut, along with some pointless added footage of Arwen, and instead we could have had more of the story of the Ents, or even better, the shouted conversation between the Uruks and Aragorn after the fall of the Deeping Wall.

On second viewing, I like the way Meriadoc matured, given that Merry and Pip had so little film time to do anything in, I hope both the younger Hobbits are portrayed well when they take up their warrior roles in TROTK.

More anorak wine stuff from last year.

Most popular countries (# wines imbibed)

1) Australia (31)
2) France (24)
3) Spain (23)
4) Chile (18)
=5) Italy(16) SA (16)
7) USA (15)
Bubbling under, Italy, Argentina, New Zealand, England, Hungary, Greece, Portugal, Mexico and Moldova!

What types did I drink....... Bacchus, Bonarda, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Carignane, Carmenere, Castelao, Cataratto, Chardonnay, Cinsault, Dolcetto, Gewurtztraminer, Grenache, Grillo, Inzolia, Malbec, Malvasia Nero, Mavrodaphne, Mazuelo, Merlot, Mondeuse, Montepulciano, Moscatel, Mouvedre, Muscadet, Nebbolio, Negro Amaro, Nero D'Avalo, Petit Verdot, Pinot Meunier, Pinot Noir, Pinotage, Primitivo, Ruby Cabernet, Sangiovese, Sauvignon Blanc, Semillon, Shiraz/Syrah, Tempranillo, Terre De Chieti, Tinto Fino, Tokaji, Viura and Zinfandel. Go on, I dare you to do a "What no.............!"
(I just ran this lot past the spellchecker, it exploded)

Tuesday, January 07, 2003

A sort of lazy journalism day, my best of/worst of wines 2002. According to my (I am a wine anorak, and proud of it) wine file for 2002, I supped my way through about 180 different wines (didn't go to a single tasting last year, so no artificially high figure), here are the best, and worst.

Top 15 Wines
1) Fondre #8 Champagne Cognac Grand Reserve (OK, so not a wine, but liquid gold all the same)
2) Montes Alpha Syrah '00, Chile
3) Barolo, Cantine Terre Del Barolo '96, Italy
4) Brut Champagne NV, Nicolas Feuillatte
5) Cabernet Sauvignon, Balgownie Esate '98, Bendigo, Oz
6) Chablis 1er Cru '97, Vaucoupin, France
7) Cobblers Hill Merlot '99, Jordan, Stellenbosch, SA
8) Don Maximiano '97, Errazuriz, Aconcagua, Chile
9) Edi2ione '00, Laithwaites, Italy
10) 8 Songs Shiraz '96, Peter Lehman, Barossa, Oz
11) Filsell Black Monster Old Vine Shiraz '99, Barossa, Oz
12) Gran Reserva Cabernet Sauvignon '99, Portal Del Alto, Maipo, Chile
13) Lake William '96, Jarvis, Napa, USA
14) Perfection Champagne, Jacquesson & Fils, France
15) Syrah Reserva '99, Errazuriz, Aconcagua, Chile

The 5 Worst Wines

1) Mouton Blanc, Black Sheep, France (My review said "Bollocks of the worst kind, stick to brewing beer, might not even risk cooking with it")
2) Mouton Rouge, Black Sheep, France ("As per the white, put it in casserole, didn't do it too much harm")
3) El Grifo Tinto '99, Lanzarote, Spain ("Ugh, thin and nasty, just nasty, why did I think of cellaring this?")
4) Domaine de Rouiere '00, VDP Des Coteaux De Fontcaude, France ("Absolute bloody bilge")
5) Chateau de Campuget Rose '99, AC Costieres de Nimes ("Oh dear, there is nothing nice to say about this wine")

There are also many notes in my wine file that say something along the lines of............."I was a bit pissed and can't remember much about this one", cheers dear readers, here's to another vintage year.

Monday, January 06, 2003

Wahey!! We won a test, well done big Andy Caddick, and bow down and hail the mighty, the wonderful, the awe inspiring Yorkshireman Michael Vaughan. I can't believe that some commentators (Ozzies) are saying we only won due to Australian injuries, hello, Jones, Gaugh, Flintoff, whining bloody Australians.

Last blog I wrote about torturing junior chefs for fun, but forgot to give a reason, well here is one...........It is a busy Sunday lunch, the carvery is almost done so I'm lending a hand at the till, writing up bills, saying goodbye to customers and taking bookings from the regular Sunday lunch crowd. Many people are commenting on the unusual taste of some of todays desserts and starters, as I have been front of house all day I am baffled. I open the fridge and have a quick sniff at things to make sure nothing is off, everything seems alright, except for........commis has used an awful lot of Hollandaise to say we only took orders for 6 poached salmon.

Comprehension dawns, idiot commis had confused two similar looking sauces, and instead of tasting them to tell them apart, he has made a guess, wrongly, and has spent all service sending out poached salmon with vanilla custard, and sticky toffee pudding with hollandaise, cue violence and much wailing.

Saturday, January 04, 2003

Ey up, it's a beautiful snowy day here in the Dales, it is soooooooo pretty, you must be pig sick if you live in Birmingham, or Glasgow, or Brazil. (You notice that I squeezed in another South American hit word there, I'm already #4 on Google for Eva Peron naked, wahey).

I wrote a while ago about the practice of battering commis chefs, well, they should also be regularly tortured and humiliated. At one restaurant we had a commis obsessed with his appearance, he would spend more attention on hanging up his civvies and polishing his shoes than he would on chopping chiffonade or pureeing the soup, a disgrace. What fun we then had by lightly misting all his clothes with water and putting them in the deep freeze all night, ah, the look on the lads face as his girlfriend waited somewhat impatiently while he tried to push himself into a suit of icy cardboard. When his clothes warmed up he would later discover that evil Sous chef had emptied his entire bottle of aftershave over them, oh the pungent smell on the dancefloor.

Friday, January 03, 2003

Here's a little fun for you, combining booze and rocket launchers, go on, shoot the redneck.

My sister wasn't overly pleased with the gift I bought for her two year old son, can't think why.......

This section may qualify as non-worksafe, beyond this link there are acres of naked flash, naked, shivering flesh in the pool at White Wells. Thanks to Alan Benn-Landale for the pics.

Thursday, January 02, 2003

Woo and Yay indeed. J+C have had a little girl during the night, welcome young Natalie. I feel so happy that I've sent the happy couple a Pee-Mail, congratulate your friends by having a small child piss on the snow.

Wednesday, January 01, 2003

Happy New Year. I did something utterly mental this morning, the White Wells plunge. White Wells is an historic spa pool on Ilkley Moor where, it is rumoured, a shepherd once had his gammy leg cured by the pure mooorland stream. Now there is a building with a proper plunge pool, and if you are crazy enough you can leap in on New Years Day.
The water in the pool runs straight off the moor, no heating, no Southern jessies here thankyou. I did actually have second thoughts upon arriving, but after the ninety year old woman and the three teenie girls had braved the pool, I couldn't back out. So with gasps of horror from the assembled watchers (the aforementioned 90 year old, the owner and a BBC film crew), I stripped off and jumped in. They say cold water can take your breath away, it does, it also removes the power of speech and paralyzes your brain. There was no chance of me winning the 'longest in the water' prize, I was out as soon as I was able to breath again, signed the book of the damned, sorry, the Book Of The Brave and went for a cuppa.