Lost in Worcestershire

This time C and I are standing in the middle of a huge apple orchard when it happens.  That feeling; the one you get at some point on every countryside walk.

If only the guide book could list that moment when the trip slips from a pleasant outing to forced march.

It’s there on every walk. You take another step and suddenly you’re aware that, of all the things you could be doing on a summer Sunday, trekking through these fields should have been the least of them.

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How to ruin a perfectly good weekend

These simple steps will help make Saturdays as fun as Mondays

There is nothing sweeter than, at 8 pm on Sunday, looking back at the brief hours of freedom that was your weekend and berating yourself for wasting them.

If you plan the two days well, you will ensure that this mournfulness is the cherry on top of a thick, creamy layer of regret and self-loathing you’ve managed to spread over the whole of your time off.

Did you file the Jenkins report?

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The eighth wonder of Southwest England

To call any holiday truly great, a visit to Porlock should sit at its very heart.

This small Somerset town is probably unfairly judged for its execrable place in English literature. While just down the road, the rolling hills of gorse and bracken serve as the backdrop to RD Blackmore’s Lorna Doone, Porlock is most famous for having people barge in on romantic poets, making them forget what they were doing.

This is of course what happened to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, as he was most of the way through writing Kubla Khan. Having woken from his laudanum laced dream with the poem fully formed, he was interrupted by a ‘person from Porlock’.

While the resident of the town has become literary shorthand for an unwanted intrusion on creativity, anyone who has traversed Porlock Hill will know that, whatever that person wanted to tell Coleridge, it must have been damn important to trek all the way up the incline.

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The inanimate objects I feel most sorry for…

are traffic bollards. One kind in particular: the white plastic oblong that are placed around small roundabouts, make me feel wistful. If you are reading this outside of England, you maybe confused by several things mention in the first two sentences.

So let me explain. Roundabouts are Britain’s answer to the question ‘how should drivers behave when they reach a crossroads’. Our answer is a small bump in the road, which all of the drivers need to steer around, giving way to the right. In other countries, where maybe rugged individualism is more of the norm, traffic lights decide the conundrum of four carriageways meeting.

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The politics of soup

How the posh ruined eating for everyone

There are two ways to eat soup: correctly or properly.

A good example of the first is a Victorian explorer. See him tumbling out of the tundra and into the tent, where a billy can of soup simmers on the stove. He hunkers over the hot soup, gripping the spoon in his fist and slurps the thin liquid into his mouth, a fast as possible. In his other hand he grasps a heel of bread, which he uses to sop up more of his meal.

The correct way to eat soup is with gusto. After all, everyone loves soup.

For the second, remember any Jane Austen adaptation you’ve ever watched. Behind the gaiety and splendour lies a world of pinched, paranoid social frenzy. One’s behaviour is monitored for evidence of deviance. Not like today, where perhaps bringing a motorbike to the table would be seen as a step too far. Jane Austen novels make it plain: an ill-timed giggle or grabbing the wrong fork means instant opprobrium.

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If you want to start what you finish

Questionnaires are the last place you should start. Especially if you’re trying to find out something extraordinary about yourself. In fact, no matter how hard they sell themselves, multiple choice questions can’t give you insights into your own life. Can they?

If it’s an online quiz, then I’m delighted to take it. Especially if it will help me find out which Friends character I’d be (Gunther), or if I’m good at grammar (mostly). Anything that might tell me something about myself that goes beyond the superficial? Sorry, no, my scepticism gauge just shot up to 100.

It was because of work that I first encountered Belbin and the realisation that, no, I wasn’t a completer finisher.

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Your hair, but louder

Women’s hair products used to be obsessed with volume. Each one boasting about its ever increasing achievements in the field of bulk. No self respecting shampoo would dream of taking a shower with a young lady, unless it could make her hair the size of a barrage balloon. Two barrage balloons; three! Just one wash will make your hair swell to a coiffured grandeur fit for a courtier of Louis XIV.

Thankfully that drive for volume has now shrivelled like a punctured souffle. Instead, modern hair products obsess about the nourishment they offer. As the way people eat has changed, so has the respect that advertisers insist we pay to our hair’s dietary needs.

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