To be loved in return

Nat King Cole, Nature Boy

Lifted beyond circumstances

I am like that nature boy who has wandered very far, very far, over land and sea. Whether I have acquired the wisdom of the boy, I cannot say. However, in life, I have learnt a lot about myself and about people.

The world has its issues and strangeness, much of which can affect us, the forces of nature sometimes unrelenting, the foolishness of politics with unintended consequences, and the unreasonableness of leaders bringing war, suffering, migration, and worse upon others.

Maybe we seek to isolate or insulate ourselves from these things, but there is only so much we can do with the limited resources we have to deploy in situations and circumstances we cannot control.

To the earthbound, the horizons are low. What we perceive through our senses can delude us, leaving us vulnerable to error and erroneous judgment. We must transcend these limitations for a dimension first created by imagination and brought into reality by what we speak.

Faith that assures

This is what undergirds my situation, I find inspiration in the words of the Christian God and begin a journey to places I could never have imagined possible. My story is not set in the travails of many aspects of adversity I have experienced, but in the blessings and triumphs that have put the past into the shade.

There are things I could not have planned for; grace and providence laid out paths that when I look back, I am amazed at how things have not only worked out for the good but have become testimonies of wonder because I refused to be moved by the storms that rage around to distract from purpose and determination.

As I embark on a time for rest and recuperation, I see the joy of living, the wonder of love, the beauty of peace, and the rejuvenation of spirit, soul, and body.

Beyond that, I hear the words of the nature boy:

The greatest thing,
You'll ever learn,
Is just to love,
And be loved in return.

Nature calling with impatient urgency

The thought is already daunting

Going beyond my local corner shop was a daunting prospect, the thought of getting into town without the encumbrance of Saturday traffic and the elements of Halloween clawing away at everyone’s sensibilities.

This was my first determined foray from home, besides my almost forgotten hospital visits and my Sunday church attendance. I needed to do some shopping, and I wondered if I had the wherewithal to complete that activity.

I had to plan my journey, and I was already wearied at the thought of a 25-minute walk when I happened on the idea of using the tram to take about 18 minutes either way out of that strenuous workout. That is what it has become, even without the fatigue, it was just the strength to perform that was lacking.

Just Can’t Wait

Barely had I reached the tram stop and I was looking for a public convenience, an urgent call of nature creating a burning sensation from my bladder into my urinary tract. I had to choose between the public toilets in the library or the town hall annexe. I chose the latter because I won’t need to navigate stairs and doors, it was a bit further along too.

As I reached for my Radar key to access the disabled toilets, the attendant was at the ready, and he opened the door for me. What seemed like a relief was first painful, burning, and unpleasant, accompanied by straining to the point of getting herniated, and then a weak hot stream, but not with the comfort of completely emptying my bladder. A bit of massaging of intimate parts and rocking from foot to foot, then another slightly pleasant stream, with a feeling of being almost done.

Nature is a taskmaster

I was comfortable enough to continue my journey, returning to the tram stop, I boarded the tram to the city shopping centre and did the first part of my shopping at Aldi. Nature intervened before I could get to M&S, so, I was off to the public toilets again, having to wait for a disabled toilet to be vacated and the routine replayed itself like just 30 minutes before.

To think I was that long at M&S getting a few cartons of juice, a milkshake and some ready meals, I knew I was not going to make it home before the third toilet visit in just over an hour. I found the comforting enclosure of the disabled toilet at Selfridge’s before I began my return journey on the tram.

Within ten minutes of arriving home, we had to do it all again. It seems walking stimulates the bladder, which might become a concern about having accessible toilet facilities once one leaves home. You could be easily dissuaded even if you are equipped with the toilet map, a Radar key, and a Just Can’t Wait card. There is no time for embarrassment or shame, when nature calls, you answer.

Flicking my ingrowing hair

The urge

My penchant for making small talk leading to interesting conversations and possible friendships is one I enjoy very much, but it does not always work out like that. There are times I have spoken out of turn creating avoidable embarrassment or out of certain curiosity or enthusiasm, put my foot right in it, I might well sink into the quagmire of mortification.

Nature itself can be cruel in the joke she plays on us. I saw a man the other day who seemed to have patterns of intriguing amusement shaped at the back of his head as if a barber had created designs that looked like two big eyes sitting on the edges of a maple leaf-looking representation.

The purge

In my amusement, I said to him, those look like eyes, to which he responded, alopecia. All I could say was, “Forgive me.”, even as I upbraided myself for being too forward and probably not observant enough. Then who would have thought the loss of hair would come in such uniformity as to look like it was designed rather than a natural thing?

Then hair has its many stories between those who want it to grow in some places they do not need it to appear and those who cannot grow it for the want of trying, out of loss or what nature intended.

The scourge

The many jokes made of how your hair is cut or shaped, the malevolence of the Pọmbé haircut that took an inch off all the sides, it seemed you have a rag placed on your head, or when it was all taken off and I was called Jagoo at school. Why my dad allowed that to happen still escapes me.

Now, that I have male pattern baldness, another side of ribbing comes into play. Yes, this time, I was supposedly flicking my ingrowing hair. Revenge is a dish best served cold; I am waiting the table of that cool customer.

We March

Going forward with nature

March always seems to present the month of beginnings when the signs of spring begin to show in nature and the days for the northern hemisphere begin earlier as the winter recedes into its seasonal twilight.

Then suddenly there could be a chilly blast with Siberia huffing and puffing over Europe with the vehemence of needing to tell us that she still exists. One year, I was in Berlin, and it was in the third week of April, it snowed. Gosh! It was depressing, as I got back home to Amsterdam, I booked a holiday to the Canary Islands.

Looking toward the warmth

March indeed has a spring to it, like we are about to march into something, a battle, an adventure, an experience, or all that together. We awaken from the slumber of Yuletide, and after the perceptively longest month of January, February grants a reprieve of love closely followed by the privations of Lent, a season of penitence and reflection is in full flow.

This year, everything is happening in March, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday, in two Sundays, it is Mothering Sunday that has become commercialised and confused with Mother’s Day. We are also springing forward with the clocks on the last Sunday which is the last day of the month and Easter Sunday, what a time to be alive, like everything is in alignment in a leap year. British Summer Time begins.

Marching onward in triumph

Yet, we march on, full of hope and expectation, amazed by the beauty that gets revealed, the smells that hit our olfactory organs, and the singing of the birds chirping away giving our eardrums a new sensation that lifts the spirits with warmth and appreciation.

In each of us, we find a blessing if we dare to live and thrive, the newness in every morning signalling the God of the universe has us in His embrace, our mouths filled with testimonies for which words cannot be found except by some Pentecostal utterance because we have been overwhelmed with goodness.

Knowing that God is not against us but on our side always and fighting for us means that this march is a triumphal one. Let us all the noise we can as we joyfully celebrate this gift of life, grace, and victory.

Holding sway in the kitchen

Loving the kitchen stage

The kitchen is a theatre, a place of deep expression, where practice and application bring forth snacks or feasts for sustenance and even celebration.

I enjoy being in the kitchen, that work of bringing together ingredients, some never imagined co-exist to become something that excites the tastebuds and sates both appetite and hunger.

Invariably, I love cooking, usually for myself but more to share with others, not large proportions for a party, just enough for a few at a table, a full course with wine with Brian is even the greatest pleasure I indulge.

When nature calls

Recently, I found myself rocking from foot to foot and remembering the times in Cape Town when my need to find relief just seemed to coincide with when I was in the middle of getting things done. At this point, I want to rush before my bowels burst and I wet myself, just as I feel I cannot stop what I am doing.

Brian has now cottoned on this strange situation as someone being pressed who needs to suffer than be succoured. Whilst it happens almost unawares, I have sought the discipline to conceal this call of nature until after it has been answered, my returning to the kitchen grinning knowing I have escaped duress. I have to master this first at home, but I have not.

Maybe what I really must do is ensure everything to the ablutions is done before I start anything in the kitchen. Curbing my enthusiasm to start and giving myself the consideration of relief before recipe might just be the best thing to do.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXVII

Unlearning to learn anew

The streets present the spectacle of the interesting and the surprising, even the astonishing is offered as one wonders if the past two years have given us any lessons to either learn or ‘unstudy’. I say ‘unstudy’ because there is much, we have learnt from the past that needs a current unlearning to make allowances for new and different aspects of knowledge, but there must be a willingness to adapt, or nothing changes.

I wondered too when yesterday I was out and about, at one indoor place where I had brunch, it occurred to me that I was not as concerned to put on my mask, the thought was scary, especially after realising that people I know had so recently contracted COVID-19. At one beer garden, you could be forgiven for thinking Octoberfest had an early opening day in Manchester.

Nature against lashes

On another note, passing by three ladies and that is as qualified as you would get it, They were sat on benches chatting away, one of them daintily holding a lit spliff and puffing at it, that was not what piqued my interest, but that the eyelashes on two of them were was sweeping and prominent as to have the means of setting off a hurricane if nature were to acquiesce to the batting of them and syncopate with their demonstration of flair.

Then I was wondering again about fashion that does not seem to have reason, meaning, or sense, then, what do I know? Before I begin to study the physics, biology, chemistry, and adequacy of such ocular embellishments that are grandiose in the extreme as to be comical for clownery. But hey! Each to their own.

Walking to observe and notice

Off the beaten path

Not down the usual walking route did I ply but rather down the Ashton Canal towpath from Paradise Wharf to Islington Wharf between which mechanical cranes and hoists of history have become monuments of the industries that once thrived here. Now, we have bijoux apartments and waterfront properties, a kind of exclusivity not nearly as exciting as it seems apart from when the canal forms an aqueduct over Store Street.

The further straight on this towpath leads to isolation, but for a sunny day, many are walking in groups to and fro, a kind of busy that is usually reserved for football match days but let us not be distracted from our surroundings and the oncoming traffic of senseless cyclists. The numerous canal locks holding back water as overflows give a sense of life.

Nature in many guises

Life in ducks, geese, and birds, they all are quacking, honking, or singing, in unison, separately or a disordered cacophony, not in need of the marshalling of a choirmaster. The music of nature is more settling than the blaring of headphones in covering your ears that you are totally unaware of what or where you are. If only they could just pocket their mobile phones for a moment and see something else.

One man and his dog, that dog a beast instead giving the person a status of terror for he could earn fear masquerading as respect no other way, then another dog, fluffy and friendly being called away from a couple sitting for a quiet talk. Just before you saw the fouling of the path, and I suspect the beastly dog, for the owner at one look did not appear the civil kind, yet, I have been wrong making such judgements.

A sport to thrill

Even as I have not decided how much further I want to go, I probably will go as far as this towpath will take me, my height is many times challenged by the low arches of bridged straddling the canal, I stoop or bow as I walk keeping an eye for some who care nothing for other users of this way.

Walking at speed, I pass another couple whilst resisting the urge to eavesdrop and then to my right over the canal is the Etihad Campus, with the football stadium of Manchester City Football Club and I recall when I could not persuade my best friend, a Manchester United fan to walk into that ‘abominable’ sanctum, though he might have had considered visiting for a local derby, I’ll ask.

Love in the park

One more bridge to duck and the windy path veers off the canal and I am presented with the entrance to Philips Park and I have not been here in years, many years at that. Two men have been ahead of me all the while, interesting from my perspective and something about them suggests more than meets the eye.

Into the park, they walk, down one of the more secluded routes that goes by the culverting of the River Medlock, the handiwork of brutal Victorians, that defines the boundary between the park and the cemetery. I am not following or trailing them, but I am just slightly behind them, then they touch and hug, I knew it all the while. They are getting more affectionate and honestly, why should I be shocked?

Just as I turn to cross over the River Medlock into the Philips Park Cemetery, they are now making their way back towards the park and in a moment of overwhelming passion, they embrace and kiss, that remains for a while or it is my persistence of vision deceiving me, for in that moment, I see love and think of love, then I wonder when Brian and I will walk about again, and give this spectacle to another narrator.

Bowling toffee

Standups at dawn

In the mornings, nature compels a situation over which many would not have any control but to endure as a part of life experience that might be shared with another if the occasion presents. What it represents and it portends can be expressed in various ways not demanding much detail except where one is aiming for some kind of competitive prize.

Be it one where pleasure or excitement replaces the awakening moments of the rising of the sun, there is a lot of warmth and love to live in and embrace. Companionship accords a mystery that can defeat the best of those who can string together words in ways that astound.

To dip and usurp

Yet, at the rising of that star in the east is the rising from slumber and rising to perform as bowls to different deployments can be touched in the course of the day, from what nature frequently demands, to that which nature requires for sustenance and the many sports where bowls and bowling give us a spectacle of nature to revel in.

To the few that are given the gift to know that bowls can be touched like being called to a priesthood of the anointed and endowed, the bats you have been given for the game of life and the way you wield them in winning your games can only be cause for envy even as you can be proud of who you are. You wonder if there are repeating daily rituals that have been missed by the less observant.

Blogs - Bowling coffee

The sin against urinals

Nature is a persistent caller

The fundamentals of nature and quite possibly the accumulation of years registered as age imposes on the person the need to answer the call of nature at inopportune moments far from the comfort of a home commode.

You get to a public urinal that is describing itself with odours most foul but have to abide it and as you release yourself with the effortless ease of bladder affirming aplomb and notice the debris of discarded chewing gum in the urinal receptacle.

Dissolution of gum

Now, there might be a lot of applications of urine that I would not care to list here for the sake of polite discourse, but I have not found any study that suggests urine can dissolve and decompose chewing gum.

Which leads me to ask the question why anyone with a remotely functioning cranial capacity would think the urinal is the best place to spit out their chewing gum? We all know that chewing gum is probably one of the most annoyingly difficult substances to dispose of.

Nascent gum archaeology

It is spat out to the ground, on pavements where they can stick on the soles of your shoes, on the under seats of benches or the public armrests where you can only wonder after that mangling with the saliva of strangers, it becomes a vector for the unimaginably unspeakable and disgusting germs.

Yet, it happens so much that I wonder if DNA markers should not be harvested from chewing gum discarded in public places other than bins for analysis towards seeking out the antisocial culprits for prosecution.

Just a thought, and I think it might be a good one too.  

When bowels of inconvenience afflict thee

The travails of leg movement

Today was a basically a free day and one in which I finally decided to take advantage of the summery weather that had begun to show up from the last few days of May. When I stepped out for my walk this morning, the day was already bright and warm, the sun had risen and it wasn’t yet 6:00 AM, I soon regretted not going out in a short-sleeve vest and shorts, along with wearing a run visor to keep the sun out of my eyes.

Sometimes, going out for walks of about 10 kilometres or more presents the complications of the call of nature, some that can be dealt with easily and others too difficult that you have to break the event to rush back home or on rare occasions even soil yourself and seek a private route of shame back home.

The urges of bowel movement

It is unfortunate that there is literally no public convenience in the city except those in the shopping centres or hospitality venues, none of which would be open at that time of the day. I remember being unable to use one in a shopping centre just on the outskirts of town a few weeks ago because it had been boarded off for some reason.

It makes you wonder what people are supposed to do when a pressing call of nature would not take endurance as a timesaving option until you have conveniently reached a public convenience. In London, I found the same thing. The single-occupant public convenience was inaccessible and if it was, you needed coins. I thought everything was paid for with contactless cards or NFC (near field communication) mobile devices, like seriously in 2021, they need an immediate radical update.

Human nature is just nature

Suffice it to say that halfway through my walk, I still had another 5 kilometres to go when I was on a beeline for home to address the matter for which there was nothing more I could do but accept the limitations of my human nature, it may be age too, for it is not the first time either.

I read a blog written a few years ago about a male friend of a lady who was disgusted because the female host of a party had prominently made tampons available in the bathroom. The man may not have recognised what every female does experience; periods, sudden menstrual flows, the embarrassment of visible stains as a result, and the possible absence of sanitary wares to contain the situation. My occasional inconvenience is nothing in comparison, but I will ensure having that accessory in my bathroom for guests, that’s my lesson. [UpWorthy: What I realized about feminism after my male friend was disgusted by tampons at a party]

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXX

Closer with the jab

My Manchester is as much a strange place as it is familiar, I still take my walks through the usual routes and at times veer off down a side road to discover something I did not know about my city. Buildings of rare or unusual architecture that one would never have thought was down a particular lane, a canal ending like a cul-de-sac the wall perched high up your imagination wonder what a mishap might portend, but we feel safe.

Down by the Sikh gurdwara, there was an assemblage of people and some donning high-visibility vest but strangely not of the typically Sikh ethnicity. For the Saturday, it had been turned into a vaccination centre, the need to get the apparently vaccination-averse ethnic minorities into the Covid-19 vaccine programme is moving into their community spaces. I hope the uptake is welcomed and the sceptical are being won over.

New friends in the park

Then I finally got to have a proper conversation with the lady and her companion who feed the birds in the park every morning when I am out for my walk. As usual, the greetings and the weather starts the proceedings before we put in our complaints about people who care little for the park leaving their litter all about the place.

We then move to the nicer things of life, nature; the new ducklings so recently hatched, the rare kingfishers that have not been seen for a while, the wild around the park that allowed otters to thrive and deer to graze into urban spaces, then the occasional terror that becomes of the usually idle and placid River Irwell.

Many personalities of River Irwell

Whilst I am fascinated by the ebb and swell of the river watching the levels on a website, where they live, they are threatened by floods, to my fascination, they have concern and sometimes dread. Her companion who I assumed was her husband is a family friend, her husband is busier now with the church nearby as they learnt that I am already 5 kilometres into my walk when we meet in the park. [Flood Information Service: River Irwell]

My ears attuned to her broad Lancastrian accent that I got used to when I holidayed with a family in Lancaster, we introduced ourselves by name and bid each other a good rest of the weekend. Indeed, I do miss the joy of conversation with strangers.

Are the 3 kings saddling their camels?

The drains drain

The many times I have visited South Africa, and this is in the southern hemisphere with all the times I have watched the moving maps of crossing the equator, I have never actively or purposefully observed the phenomenon called Coriolis force or the broader Coriolis effect.

I will not pretend to explain them in detail, but the direction of motion of how water goes down a drain in a clockwise or anti-clockwise way depending on whether you are in the northern or southern hemisphere. Yet, it would be interesting to observe, an experiment with dyed water, pulling out the plug and taking a video recording. Then, Snopes snuffs my interest out dismissing it as a myth. [Snopes: Coriolis Force Effect on Drains]

What a day to long for

One other thing I have not taken into consideration too is that the 21^st of December is the Winter solstice in the northern hemisphere wherein they will have the shortest day and it is the Summer solstice in the southern hemisphere where we would presumably have the longest day. This is my second birthday in the southern hemisphere and my third Christmas here, but let’s not baffle ourselves with the how’s and why’s.

The radio had been going on about this aspect of the length of days that I decided to check on my weather app. As I write this, the sun is yet to rise in Manchester at 08:23 hours and will set at 15:52 hours for a daylight length of 7 hours and 29 minutes, we are two hours ahead in Cape Town.

Here in Cape Town, the sun rose at 05:32 hours and will set at 19:57 hours, giving us a daylight length of 14 hours and 25 minutes, 6 hours and 56 minutes longer than in Manchester where it is a calm 4⁰ Celsius and comparatively already 24⁰ Celsius here.

Presents for me

Another natural phenomenon of celestial consequence we will experience today is the Christmas Star of Bethlehem, where the planets of Saturn and Jupiter will align in the sky after sunset and will be observable from South African skies, this last happened almost 800 years ago. What a time to be in. [The Witness: Don't forget to look out for the 'Christmas Star of Bethlehem' on Monday]

To fill up this blog I could add names the names of people who were born on the 21^st of December, but that would be a veritable list of heroes and villains, there is enough to celebrate in the day and make the most of it in natural and celestial significance and observations, and that is just wonderful too.

Pissing from a great height

A turbulent bladder

And so, I felt the sudden urge to use the toilet and got up just as the air steward was walking up the aisle towards me, she was insistent I sit down, and I told her I had to go the toilet. She disapprovingly asked if it was urgent and without hesitation gave me a lecture on turbulence and the concern I should have for my safety.

I was between two minds of either telling her I had flown to South Africa 5 times last year or I had been flying since the age of 4 and I am now 54. Why bother? I sat down, crossed my legs and fingers hoping not to wet myself.

Checking on the piping

I appreciate she flies that route and probably has the training to handle severe turbulence, she was not tethered to anything and the aisles do not have railings. My being of a certain age was brought into stark reality by the Uber driver that took me to the airport.

His father had an obstruction in his urinary tract that resulted in him having a urostomy, the minor detail of him being 55 that I will celebrate in 10 days. He advised I should be seeing a urologist if I didn’t already have someone professional poking around there.

Without making too much of a thing about it, I would have hated to have to tell unnecessarily personal stories about a condition that requires an urgent dash to the loo. I suppose my shaving conceals that evidence of highlights on my beard acquired naturally, but let's not labour the point. I soon got to ease myself, a Nigerian colloquialism with emphasis on ease.

Awkward nature calls

When I got up the second time, I had the privilege of having the door to the lavatory opened for me without any discussion as to why, when, or what. Well into the morning before we landed, I needed another visit, and this time, all the toilets were occupied.

We had to queue up and one of the toilets seemed to be in use for long, an air steward opined that it might be a lady freshening up, I thought I saw a gentleman go in, but you never can tell nowadays, who is who. I declined an opinion with you never know.

I literally ran into the next available toilet, I wasn’t as pressed, but it was good humour as everyone laughed and when I was done, I was quite at ease, took my seat and wondered about pissing from a great height of 10 kilometres.

Repeated patterns of wonder

The rhythm of nature

We live by rhythms; some we are entirely in tune with and others we are completely oblivious of. Finding one’s rhythm in life and endeavour allows us to operate at our best in any undertaking. It rocks you and puts you into the flow opening you to amazing experiences.

Each person has rhythms unique to themselves that could then be rhythmically synchronised with that of another, the way like minds work together to bring ideas into reality or hearts are in tune in the expression of love.

I listen out for rhythms to bring calmness and peace from the nature that surrounds me. The chirping of birds or the beauty of birdsong, the roar of a river over cataracts or the bristling as it runs over or around obstacles. People out speaking to each other or laughing as they catch the bliss of their communities.

We sway in the comfort of the breeze that blows into our faces as a smile envelopes those cheeks when a memory slips into our consciousness. We must live by the rhythm for out of it a story gets told.

Thought Picnic: Patience is a place of calm

Process is patient

We learn the work of patience as a continuous experience in life. There are things that need to begin, grow, and mature, they require a timeframe that in our knowledge will allow us to reap the best harvest of a situation.

You want fruits to grow to a size and ripen, you’ll be suspicious of fruit that instantly grows like air being blown into a balloon and ripens like flicking the switch of a lightbulb. Yes, there are people with a snake-oil remedy disposition that would love to pass off fruit like that in the market for a quick buck. They will do so and disappear.

Destination travels patient

Those who intend to return to the market time and again, will let patience do its work because it builds reputation, shows character, reveals integrity and espouses humanity, because they do unto others what they expect others to do unto them. They are in their souls, the good neighbour, the Good Samaritan, the people of whom we learn by example, who we can trust with the reins of power to do right.

We must be patient, because no matter how fast you are going, you will not be going beyond your destination and those caught in the slow lane will eventually get there. We should just be wary of those who have no destination, wandering in the wilderness with a path or direction who might soon wander into the path of predators to be consumed.

Preparation grows patience

Patience is a virtue we can so easily run out of, yet, it gives a different sense of calm when you know that what is coming will come because things are in motion by reason of activities in place to make it happen. It is borne in quiet contemplation away from the noise of the madding crowds and the maddening situations.

Give patience its place and anxiety will have no hold. It is taking so long to reach the decision, what we no more fear is regardless of how long drawn out it becomes, the general idea of what is expected will take its incontrovertible and tangible form that no realities from alternate universes can dispute.

The high tides of River Irwell

Just walking along

I generally take a standard route for my walks with some subtle variations to the path whilst not wandering off to give me something from 9 kilometres to 12 kilometres of brisk walking exercise in the morning. How I set off usually determines how well I perform, though I am sometimes shocked that there are times I have spent over 11 minutes to a kilometre when I have once managed under 6 minutes.

What gives me the most pleasure is getting 7 kilometres done in under 60 minutes, it means I should average 8 minutes 30 seconds to the kilometre. Usually, if I get 5 kilometres into 41 minutes, I know I can do it.

Not slow, big flow

One fascinating feature of my walks is the River Irwell that meanders through the City of Manchester and the City of Salford, serving as the boundary between them. I will cross the river about 6 or 7 times and up to 5 kilometres can be walking beside the river.

The river course of River Irwell - Wikipedia

I now have an eye for the currents of the river, the sedentary and fast flows, the latter which I noticed today and by the time I reached the bridge crossing into Peel Park, the river was the fullest I had ever seen it. Apparently, the river from the flood gauge can measure from 0.78m to 3.00m, the highest was 5.67m on the 26^th of December 2015, it was even much higher during a flood in Victorian times. In 1866, the river rose 14 feet (4.3m) above its normal levels.

Today, the embarkment towpath of the river was completely covered with water apart from the slipway, it was a murky brown flow and the tide was at 2.495m when I arrived at Peel Park and still rising to a peak of 2.733m at 9:30 AM. [Flood Information Service: River Irwell]

Tidal readings of River Irwell this morning.

If I had wings

The quiet feel of nature before the cities rise is calming and except for the kilometre indicators from my phone, I stopped listening to music or wearing earphones. The birds of River Irwell are a spectacle, sometimes, I have to walk through lots of guano. They never go hungry as there are people who have weaned the birds and ducks on a diet of bread.

Our local birdwatchers have sighted sand martins, blackbirds, Canada geese, great tits, wood pigeons, carrion crows, jackdaws, little grebe, starlings and much else. If only I could tell one bird from another apart from their generic names. [All bird references courtesy of The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB)]

River Irwell at Peel Park this morning. (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

Different speeds on two feet in the park

Every little step I take

Stepping out at the break of dawn, the morning breaks with a chill and the morning dew, the weather turning as you make your way almost too far from home for you to turn around, as the need for shelter is lost to the quest to complete a quota before you resume for work.

Briskly, as you set your walking exercise, the tracker on your wrist buzzes reading your heart rate as you set out to either break personal records or just have it on the record. In the business district, you weave, and you are notified of the first kilometre.

The doorways or the nooks of large shops have sleepers, the homeless whose stories we know little of, whether they are warm enough, or will have a supply for the day and can dream of a future, we do not know. Yet, fortitude and providence does raise people from the strangest places to make a fantastic story, maybe we can angels in that journey too.

A river of curls

Reaching the edge of the city centre, you have crossed the River Irwell twice and the industrial suburb beckons for your second kilometre, though your third crossing of the river is a few hundred metres short of your third kilometre and you are well into the City of Salford.

Your fourth crossing of the river and soon after then fifth is leaves your fourth kilometre between, and the park is just in view where the circuit you walk is just about 2.2 kilometres. When you begin to make your way home by another route on a busier road, there is probably another two crossings of River Irwell and you realise this is a river that meanders through Manchester, though its course is unlikely to change in the near future.

The people of the park

The park begins to come alive as the light of day bathes it with a welcome giving you the sight of others roused to move. An elderly lady with two male companions take a walk she speaks, they nod, it is the first morning greeting, as she feeds the birds, the ducks and the geese with bread crumbs.

Further on, one man and his dog on a leash, then another man with his two dogs, one dog walking into my path whilst the other is taking him for a walk, pulling hard and demanding of motion. The lady in a hijab, sometimes walking and other times running, says good morning, we smile and she’s gone.

It’s in the family

A father pushing a perambulator combining baby-sitting with running, whether it is fun or not, the baby remains in deep slumber, as would I if I have the rocking motion of a vehicle to comfort me.

A mother brings her son to the park, he rides his bicycle as she goes for a run, then over the bridge, two kids on their scooters arrive with their dad, they make for the children’s play area, but it is still in the quiet of the day. Eschewing the cacophony that comes with music from my headphones, I take in the sounds of nature, the river rolling over rocks, the leaves rustling in the trees, the birds making different sounds a haven of the variety of life.

Another few people visit the park to run, each with a different circuit, all of different sizes and have I just recognised a face from one of those profiles of idle distraction, not that I venture a confirmation of my curiosity. The many greetings I make turn into a short conversation with a couple that walks through the park, each time noticing how different I was from the day before. It is a quick chat; I might get to know their names.

Then I return

As I leave, I have 9 kilometres in my trek and three more to go for my doorway. People walk or run, but none are doing the brisk walk I do. I can’t run and yet, I work up a good sweat that calls for my flannel at certain times.

Workmen sauntering to work are surprised at my hurried passing, I am only held back at the traffic crossings until one of them picks up a traffic cone and bellows out to me about exceeding the speed limit. I acknowledge him with a wave and 20 minutes later, I am at home.

This blog covers the subject of the blog I lost yesterday; I do not know if it is as good as the original but getting it out of my system means I can go on to other things.

Blog - A lost blog inspiration

Cape Town, a place of love

Then nature set a table for a mount,
And gathered 12 apostles to sit around,
From where we stood and looked,
We saw the shimmering sea and more,
From Lion’s Head to Signal Hill,
Where cannons boom at noon,
The waterfront presents great views,
Of billowing clouds of awe.

It’s a place where love becomes a fount,
In which we land and kisses abound,
The love nest we sought and booked,
To write a story better than folklore,
For nuptial bliss we stake our will,
Even plan the time to honeymoon,
Our union blessed kneeling at pews,
This Cape Town is such a draw.

 

An Augustine walk of life

Doing more than I thought

I think I have gained the ability to exert myself in ways I would have never considered not too long ago. In planning my walk for yesterday after church, I considered walking to Sale Water Park, my course was just over 7 kilometres with an estimated duration of about 90 minutes.

Along the way, a confusion of road signs left me veering off course, but not away from the bearing, for soon I recognised a place I had walked to some weeks ago and was able to redirect my path under I got to the banks of the River Mersey.

It was my intention to return home for our Sunday soiree drinks, so I walked up to a tram stop and made it just in time for the drinks.

Stretching the goals

Today, being a Bank Holiday, I could also not be happier for the fact that this was the first time in seven years our neighbourhood did not have to endure the cacophonous revelling of Manchester Pride which occurs for 4 days from Friday at the August Bank Holiday. One appreciable benefit of the pandemic, one might say.

However, I had another look at the route to Sale Water Park, but instead of going there, I veered left after Hardy Farm towards Chorlton Water Park which extended my walk to just over 9 kilometres.

To lengths that surprise

After taking a rest by the lake, I walked on the north bank of the Mersey to Princess Road and then over the river back down and to the Sale Water Park tram stop, altogether another 4 kilometres, but which time I had done enough for the day.

I only started measuring my exercise activity on the 7^th of August and I have done 337.44 kilometres of walking in 25 days. That is a feat I would never have thought possible. It is good fun; I think the girth is trimming and the pounds are beginning to fall away. The test of all this would be in keeping it off rather than presenting a yo-yo effect. What I need to investigate is how my pace is getting better, but my heart rate is stuck in the fat-burning range when I need to be in the aerobic range.

Tomorrow, I should have the month statistics for review.

Let's go outdoors and meditate

A lonely place

After my post-work nap, I was up just 15 minutes before my allotted gym timeslot, but I was not keen. The gym is a sterile lonely place, mechanised for exertion to some bodily profit and nothing else, especially if you are alone there.

On the treadmill, you key in your weight, programme, duration, speed, age and it starts off racing you to the optimal heart rate whilst you find distraction in the timers and counters for time, calories, distance, watts and what not.

Even with the music playing in my ears, there is no quiet to meditate either in what you are hearing or the stillness that comes with appreciating nature. No, the gym is no fun without some company.

In natural beauty

However, I do like walking around the city, though I did not find useful information for walks around Manchester. Taking a different course, I walked to Platt Fields Park in Fallowfield, south of Manchester City. It has a pleasure lake with ducks, geese and swans. Walking around the lake is about 400 metres and I did that about 4 times before I charted another route home.

After 2 hours 15 minutes, I took a rest at St. Peter’s Square for some 20 minutes before returning home. A bit of thigh strain, I will recover by the morning. I think I will get a better and rewarding time walking out to parks, meditating, sometimes singing, chanting, or praying. It is more relaxing, and I am not waiting for the clock to countdown, to escape from the drudgery of unrefreshing solitude in an airless gym.

Pictures of Platt Fields Park pleasure lake.