Friday Farewells

And so farewell, Derby. You were my home for over two years - a town (okay, technically city) I'd never had anything to do with before, but which came to feel a lot like home.

So goodbye to 'the most central city in England' (which means nothing, you still get seagulls). Goodbye to the crazy half a ring road, goodbye to the all-too-frequent merging dual carriageways that caused havoc in rush hour, goodbye to the inconsistent cycle lanes liable to dump you at the wrong end of a one-way street. Goodbye to rows and rows of terraced red-brick houses - not that Derby is alone in having those, but it certainly has a lot. Goodbye to the badly-placed railway station which was being refurbished for the whole time I was there, goodbye to the bus station that was knocked down a year ago (anyone remember that news item about a protestor living in a caravan on a bus station roof? That was Derby) and will probably never be replaced.

Goodbye to the roads, the roads by which Derby navigates. Goodbye to Pride Park, the Wyvern, Traffic Street, London Road, Osmaston Road, Ashbourne Road, Pentagon island, Markeaton island, Palm Court island (I never even worked out which roundabout that one was), Kingsway, Spider island, Raynesway, the Cock Pitt and the Blue Peter.

Goodbye to the suburbs and villages with funny names, to Spondon, Chaddesden, Five Lamps, Chester Green, Quarndon, Borrowash, Chellaston, Swarkestone, Markeaton, Long Eaton, Little Eaton, Mackworth, Littleover, Allestree, Alvaston, Crewton, Normanton and even Sunnydale (although I never got round to finding it). Oh, and I never mentioned I've been living in New Zealand for the last two years, did I?

Goodbye to the Peak District, so handily close. Okay, I always drove for at least an hour to get up to the proper hills in the Dark Peak, but nonetheless it was great to know the hills and valleys and open wild landscape were all there if I needed them. Goodbye in particular to Edale and Kinder Scout, where I found something approaching the grandeur, beauty and sheer wildness of the Lake District or the Scottish Highlands. I'll be back, though - even from Northampton I believe the Peaks are still my closest hills.

Goodbye to the town centre, the shops and bars and pubs and restaurants we always ended up in. From Tonic and Limes with their delusions of grandeur and fashion, through Fat Cats with old books on the wall, the Brunswick (a real ale pub near the station; can you guess at the clientele?) and the Standing Order (a Wetherspoons housed in an old bank), to the old end-of night standbys of Varsity, Walkabout or the Scream pub. Plus, of course, the special little places - Sadlers with its 'mushroom lounge' as we called it (those bobbin seats), or the Dolphin pub dating back to Tudor times, with low beams to match. To the curry houses on Midland Road and the pricey little bistros of Friargate. To the new Westfield shopping centre that disrupted my daily life with roadworks and construction for 2 years, but finally enlivened it with yummy milkshakes and a gadget shop for the last two months.

Goodbye to Markeaton Park, scene of so many Sunday strolls, and to the paths and fields and villages beyond. To the river Derwent, which I never did manage to walk along beside, and to the bits of old canals and mill races lurking beside old mills in back streets. To the strange little back streets themselves, which you only found when cycling or walking around the city. In particular to that odd little route to Morrisons which led through an old factory site across a ford on a private road. That was strange.

Goodbye to the Playhouse, where I saw a couple of good plays and which has recently run out of money, and to the Assembly Rooms where I once saw some snooker.

Goodbye to Bombardier and Derby Carriage Works as was, with its huge long red-brick workshops, its portacabins, its running lines and traversers and forklifts and old carriages and bogies stood rusting in sidings. To its evil speed bumps, which I am not sorry to leave behind in the slightest, and to bacon cobs on Friday mornings from the canteen, which I am.

But most of all, farewell to the people. Goodbye to my own original graduate year, reduced as we now are, because we were a good group despite the odd range of people we had. To the people I worked with at Crewe and Central Rivers, not forgotten over the time since I last saw them (well, especially not the three from Central Rivers I am now working with here...), because I've never disliked a workplace group (of engineers) so far - they've all been great. To the RAM/LCC lot in Derby, for daily amusement through both insanity and stupidity, and for being generally great and friendly. To the others around - from the bunch of other 20-somethings-or-maybe-30-but-we-won't-talk-about-its I went out on Thursday nights with, good fun and pleasant company, to the fleet and system engineers who despite grey hair and revered wisdom could still come out with the best lines. "Crewe? A very good place for sick engines. It says so in Thomas The Tank Engine." And not forgetting the lunchtime canteen bunch - our conversations never failed to descend into the totally bizarre, usually with a good helping of smut and innuendo on the side. "Is that a chicken in your oven, or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sigh. Bye bye Derby. It was good knowing you.

Happy Hobblings and the Bad Cream of Death

Remember, remember the 5th of November,
Clotted cream, low clouds and mud.
With caves, stars and mulled wine, bright gorges and bonfires,
And murder – ‘cause we’re slightly odd.

Keppet’s account of the proceedings of the Cheddar Hobbmeet 2007 is more than fantastic, and I would not wish to rival it. (Because I’d lose.) But, comprehensive as it was (I just copied it into Word for a quick refresher, and – 21 pages!), I thought I should just commemorate a great weekend myself with a few extra little moments and memories.

Biped relaxing on Weston super Mare’s platform. Or else propping herself up so that she didn't fall over with boredom if I mentioned trains.

Biped declaring that Keppet wasn’t on the train that had just arrived, three seconds before she disembarked.

A little round of introductions to Blue, from us: “I’m Keppet.” “Biped,” “skittledog.” Nod and smile. “Ah.”

Why did Wookey Hole feel the need to accompany the huge and magnificent Cathedral Chamber cave with the tune of the Concierto d’Aranjuez adagio? I mean, it worked, but it wouldn’t be the first thing I’d think of doing in a huge cave…

The dinosaur destroying the pirate ship in the Graveyard of Fibreglass Statues.

Dwarf Hobblings!

The bonfire so large and fiery that it was enough fire to last me for weeks. I can still see its glorious colours and the sparks flying off into the cold night…

Playing board games until 2am, as the time slipped away amidst murder attempts and Lambeth Bridge; only the best of friends do this kind of thing, right?

Cookery, with biped and I often ending up in hysterics at how badly we were doing. Seriously, Keppet, you didn’t want to know what that roast lamb looked like at one point…

Keppet and biped reassuring me that yes, it is okay to use more than one clove of garlic in a sauce for three people (biped eating a raw clove proved nothing but did scare me…). Me and biped reassuring Keppet that yes, putting a small amount of sugar in a tomato sauce is a normal and indeed necessary thing to do. Keppet and I reassuring biped that no, a few washing-up suds left on the dishes will not kill us. (I suddenly want a Hobbling version of Kill Doctor Lucky…)

Keppet trudging around Cheddar Gorge with her little tribble coat on. How she didn’t explode of overheating, I know not.

Biped doodling a monster on the condensation on the inside of my car back window. I meant to take a photo of it, but sadly it has since been erased by other travellers.

All discussions over road atlases and maps… “oh, that’s where we went…”

Cock-a-doodle-dooooo! It’s 4am, and I am a manly rooster crowing for no discernible reason!

Me bringing my dvd player but forgetting the remote. Which made it impossible to watch anything but the first episode of anything. Oops.

Sky so nearly talking about mooncups in public.

Ah, the sherbet. The remainder emptied itself all over the inside of my backpack and is impregnating my possessions to this day.

Biped’s face when Keppet and I decided that all three of us should now occupy the same sofa. Mwahaha. *prod*

Spinning round while star-gazing to create personalised special effects.

The cheeriness of a muddy English seaside on a grey November day…with friends. *squelches and spins*

And a final farewell each time that – as Keppet has already said – really wasn’t a farewell at all. It was a see you later. It almost didn’t even sting – much as I didn’t want the weekend to be over, there was none of that ‘and now I won’t see you again for ages’ feeling. It was get home, turn the internet on and *prod* with immediate effect. Excellent.

@yawn@

Trend

Weekend 1: London. 130 miles from Derby.
Weekend 2: Cheddar. 150 miles from Derby.
Weekend 3: Lake District. 150 miles from Derby.
Weekend 4: Porthmadog. 140 miles from Derby.
Weekend 5: Stansted (for flight to Munich). 130 miles from Derby.

Is there some law about distance from Derby before places become worth going to?

Note for Stalkers and other Aliens

This is just a little snippet to say hello to any non-internet people wandering across this little corner of the internet. I know there are one or two of you out there now, and I know that very little of this blog is going to make sense to you, littered as it is with in-jokes and references to ‘Hobblings’ and the like. So I just wanted to say – well, tough, really. I’m not going to change who I’m writing for, because I just love in-jokes too much to drop them in case some of my audience don’t get them...and if you get too confused you can always just stop reading. Or gaze in awe at how interesting my life must be to generate all this oddness. Whichever...