It’s not compulsory to cover your cake in marzipan if you really hate the stuff (yes, there are people who don’t like marzipan - Mr M being one of them). Personally, I love the smell and taste of almonds. Give me some marzipan or a Bakewell tart and I’m in heaven. It wasn’t always like that though. I remember as a child being traumatised by a sugared almond that I thought was going to be a lovely sugary, chewy sweet. Even now, I can’t face eating a whole almond. I struggle to eat any almonds and a Bakewell Tart for me is spoiled if the icing is sprinkled with flaked almonds rather than a lovely, feathered icing finish. But almond flavour is delicious. So, marzipan ticks all the boxes for me. Soft, sweet, tasting of almonds, but not having the nut itself in it to spoil it. Each to their own, I guess.
The purpose of the marzipan on your Christmas cake is not really anything to do with taste, although it does make a slice of cake look lovely with the dark, fruity, boozy cake, a light golden layer of marzipan, finished with a layer of bright, white icing. The reason for having that extra layer in between the icing and fruit cake is to keep the moisture in the cake, and it acts as a buffer to stop the moisture seeping into your white icing, causing it to discolour.
Of course, you don’t need to cover your cake with marzipan or icing if you prefer a naked cake. (Which is something totally different to enjoying your cake whilst naked). Don’t let anyone tell you what you must do. It’s your cake. If you will be eating it, make it how you want it to be. There are too many people and recipe books telling you what you should and shouldn’t do. I like to think that I simply give people ideas.
This year, I am making my own marzipan. When I served my Christmas Cake in our tearoom, I always bought the marzipan as I was worried about customers eating raw egg. Those readers of a similar age to me will remember back in 1988 when a certain Edwina Curry warned the nation that we would most likely get salmonella from eating raw eggs. Yes, homemade marzipan uses raw egg. But if it’s safe enough for Delia and Mary, it’s good enough for me.
Ready-made marzipan can be purchased from just about any major food store now and is very good. It’s not the first time that one of the stocking fillers for my daughter, Chloe, has been a packet of golden marzipan! Shop bought has the benefit of keeping much longer than homemade, but that’s not really something I need to consider for my Christmas Cake as it gets eaten long before this becomes a worry.
The only downside of homemade marzipan is that it tends to be a little softer than ready-made, so if you have time, I suggest popping your marzipan in the fridge for an hour or so after making it. That way, it becomes a little easier to handle. If, like me, you’re doing a simple royal icing finish on your cake as a simple snow scene, there is no need to worry about how neat, flat and smooth your marzipan coating on the cake is. However, if you’re using fondant icing to cover your cake, or being very artistic and needing a flat, smooth cake, with perfect edges, take lots of time when covering it in marzipan to get the desired base for your icing. A good tip for having a very smooth, flat cake top is to turn your cake over so that you have the bottom of your cake as the top. Push a little of marzipan into the gap between the now bottom of the cake and the cake board before covering the whole cake with marzipan.
Having said all that, making your own marzipan is incredibly easy.
First, unwrap your cake, removing all the parchment paper and foil that it has been stored in, resisting any temptation to take a big bite out of your cake because it smells delicious. Even good skills with marzipan and icing can’t always disguise that you’ve bitten into your cake, and this might make your guests a little reluctant to accept a piece. Oh, now there’s an idea. I could shape my cake to look like I’ve taken a bite out of it then I wouldn’t have to share it. A bit like licking cakes on a plate so that nobody will eat them before you. You’ve never done that! What do you do if cakes have been put on the table and you have your eye on a particular one, or the largest, but you’re still eating your main course? Quite simple. You lick the desired cake, of course–in full view of the others at the table so they know which cake you’ve put your slavers on. Mind you, that might not always put people off, so you still need to be on your guard.
Put the unbitten cake on a cake board that is a little larger than the cake (to allow for the marzipan and icing).
Using a pastry brush, or knife, spread some warmed apricot jam, honey, golden syrup or anything similarly sticky. It doesn’t really matter what this is, but you don’t want something with a very strong flavour, bits of peel or fruit, or colour. The purpose of this coating is simply to make the marzipan stick to the cake.
This recipe will make enough marzipan to cover the top and sides of an 8–9-inch cake.
Ingredients
250g icing sugar
250g caster sugar
250g ground almonds
2 large free-range eggs
2 teaspoons almond extract
Method
Watch out for a follow-on blog on icing the cake. For my royal icing I’ll be needing icing sugar and eggs. Don’t forget to get decorations for the top of your cake. I’ll be using the same ones I’ve used for many years–a Merry Christmas sign, Christmas tree, holly and a lady holding cakes (of course!).
If you want to see more recipes, tales and adventures, here's the link for my book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill
]]>Coniston, November 2023
Winter was fast approaching, and I knew I would probably only have one more tip in Evie this year. There was only one place I wanted to go: to take a return trip to Coniston Park Coppice Club Campsite. Of course, this was going to be a trip filled with emotion. It was November last year, 2022, that Beatrix and I had our first trip to this campsite. Little did I know then that these would be Beatrix’s last few days before she travelled the dog rainbow bridge. But what a fabulous last few days she had in the Lake District.
It might seem strange to some readers why, a year on, both Mr M and I are still consumed with grief over the death of a dog. Until Beatrix came into our lives in 2013, I wouldn’t have understood it either. But we are. We’re grieving together but also alone. We chat about Beatrix every day. I talk to her most days, and I know Mr M does, too. We both had a special relationship with Beatrix. Mr M took her to the park to play with the ball for hours and hours. I took her up the hills and mountains. For that reason, I felt I needed to have my own private time to grieve for Beatrix. I knew that Mr M would probably do the same whilst I was away.
The evening before my trip, I attended a book event and got chatting with a couple of men at my table. The conversation soon became about the dogs in our lives. I shared my tale about Beatrix, and one of the men told us that he had just lost his dog and was still grieving. The other man, who, he told us, had just recently got his first dog, was interested in why I had a new puppy.
“Did you get the puppy to replace Beatrix,” he asked.
The horror on the face of the other man matched how I felt.
I explained that Florence was in no way a replacement for Beatrix but that having experienced the unconditional love of a dog, I knew I needed to feel that same kind of love again. Beatrix will never be replaced or forgotten, but I wanted to give a new heartload of love to a new dog.
I likened it to being a Mum. When I had my son, Benjamin, I thought I could never love anything as much as I love him. Then I had my daughter, Chloe. Did Chloe have to share my love for her with her brother, Benjamin? Not at all. I have a whole pot of love for each child. Then, along came the grandchildren. They each have a full pot of my love, too.
That’s what it’s like when you have a dog. My heart still holds the same love for Beatrix I had when she was here. But now I have an equally full pot of love for Florence, our new puppy. (Although she may wonder if I still love her after I found her chewing a hole in our lovely bedroom carpet!).
]]>It’s been a busy time through July and into August, and I can hear you cry, “Are you a mermaid yet?”
Honestly? Not yet. In my attempt to regain my fitness and become more pain-free, I’ve been following the advice of my GP and podiatrist. For the last couple of years, the doctors have blamed arthritis for the pain in my feet and ankles. According to the podiatrist, this is not the case. After watching me walk (or limp) into the clinic, her first words were, “Are you a cyclist?”
“Erm, yes,” I replied.
“That’s what’s wrong with you. You have flat feet, fallen arches and tight calves. All these have put a strain on the tendons in your feet, causing bunions and limiting the movement in your feet.”
Smiling, clearly pleased with herself that she had diagnosed my problem, she asked, “Can you stand on your tip-toes?” She knew full well that the answer would be no.
During the consultation, I explained that my main sport had indeed been cycling until Beatrix came into our lives. With an active Border Collie and a husband with bad knees, walking and hill-climbing became my main hobby. For the last ten years, cycling seems to have taken a back seat.
The podiatrist explained that my joints hadn’t been able to adjust to the sudden change of activity and the pressure that hill-walking puts on your feet.
I left the clinic with purpose build insoles for my shoes, a list of exercises and advice to buy some rocker-toe shoes. No, I’d never heard of them either, but after an extensive search on t’internet, I had a better idea. But I didn’t want to buy shoes online. I wanted to see and feel them and know they were comfortable before I spent a fortune on them.
My search in Glasgow’s well-known shoe stores and outdoor shops proved to be a disappointment. I began to think I was doomed to buy online.
But, on a trip out to Bridge of Allan to support a friend who had just opened a dog boutique, Kelso and Titch, there in the pretty village, was a Run4It store. Not holding out much hope, I popped my head through the door and asked if they had any rocker-toe shoes.
“We do. Come in,” said the lovely young man.
A short while later, I was on the train from Bridge of Allan, holding my precious new purchase like a pot of gold.
Have they worked?
Kind of. I’ve noticed a definite improvement. But who knows whether this is from the shoes alone or the exercises? I know that if I wear them all day, the pain returns later in the evening. So now I swap between my posh rocker-toe shoes and my old trainers with purpose-made insoles. And I am religiously still doing the exercises every day.
Could I take Florence up a mountain? Not yet. But I now have hope that this is a possibility in the not-too-distant future. I am no longer being kept awake at night by the pain -which means Mr M is not being kept awake.
On the frozen shoulder front, as I mentioned in my blog in June, I now have a membership at the Kirkintilloch leisure centre for the gym and the pool. Initially, I could spend thirty minutes in the gym before heading to the pool. That didn’t last long, though; it soon became just a swim.
Do people actually enjoy going to the gym?
At first, swimming was a bit of a pantomime. My frozen shoulder prevented me from manoeuvring my arms enough to get my swimming costume on. Well, they are tight, and mine is definitely snug at the moment! Mr M came to the rescue (as always) and helped me into my costume at home. He offered to accompany me to the pool and help me get out of the wet costume. I declined this kind offer, deciding that, with a bit of cursing and groaning, I could manage this myself.
The first few sessions were brief, and the swimming was slow. My right arm would not sit level with my left arm as I did the breaststroke, which caused me to swim with a bit of a roll. I could hear my old swimming coach shouting at me to sort myself out. The front crawl was definitely out of the question. Twenty lengths were my limit, but I could soon see an improvement by getting to the pool three to four times a week.
Twenty lengths became 30, then 40. Then, on the day I crept up to 50 lengths, I noticed that my right arm allowed me to do an almost perfect breaststroke.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself off the edge of the pool to try a length of front crawl. I hoped nobody had been watching me as I attempted my first stroke and heard myself splutter and cry out in pain.
Breaststroke it will be for a bit longer. So whilst I’m not quite a mermaid yet, I’m well on my way. I certainly have an air of Eau de Chlorine about me. My frozen shoulder has not completely healed, but there has been a definite thawing. Maybe it’s just cold now.
Last week I had a break from my mermaid activities as I was on full-time Grandma duties with Minnie-the-Minx, or Mad-Max, staying for a week. When Beatrix told me the tales for her book, she taught me a great deal about seeing the world from a dog’s eyes. Minnie reminded me how life can seem as a little four-year-old child.
But Minnie is back in Halifax now. I’ve caught back up with my sleep. Florence can sleep on the couch again (even though she’s not allowed on the furniture), and Mr M has just me to cater for.
Becoming a mermaid has resumed. My frozen shoulder is now almost pain free, but still with limited movement. Strong painkillers are no longer needed, and the light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter.
But today, I exceeded all my plans. I aimed to try a short cycle next month. Today, I couldn’t wait any longer.
“I’m going out on my bike,” I announced over my porridge.
Mr M raised his eyebrows. “Phone me if you need me,” he sighed, and continued to eat his hot buttered toast.
And I did it. I cycled for the first time in nearly a year. I’m sure I had a smile on my face all the time I was out. Admittedly, it was a short cycle – Kirkintilloch to Clachan of Campsie and back—a round trip of around 15 miles. Long enough for me to feel the freedom that cycling gives you, but short enough not to cause any discomfort to my now non-saddle-shaped posterior. The Strathkelvin Railway track was re-surfaced last year, and all the raised tree roots no longer lie like sleeping policemen on the surface. It’s a joy to cycle this now (and I’m not a cycle track fan).
Just before reaching Clachan of Campsie, thoughts of a latte and flapjack began appearing. With no funds on me, I phoned Mr M and asked if he wanted to come out to join me. Of course, I would have still invited him to join me even if I had my purse with me! What sort of wife do you think I am?
Sadly, the café was closed due to Covid. I set off cycling towards Milton of Campsie, on the road, to flag down Mr M, so we could get our coffee fix at the lovely Fells Café. I think Mr M was rather pleased I’d called him to meet me, enjoying a bacon sandwich and a latte. My treat was a lovely coconut and oat slice with a thick layer of chocolate.
Beatrix hated me going out on my bike because she couldn't go with me. Now, with my fabulous new phone cover, Beatrix can come with me on all my cycles.
I was pleasantly surprised (ok, overjoyed) that the cycle today, with the few little inclines, caused no pain or discomfort to my shoulder. My feet are never sore cycling. Today, I experienced the joy of being outside again with the breeze blowing through my hair and I smiled at Crow Road.
“I’ll be back soon,” I told it.
Now I’m home, my bike is resting until the next trip, and my shoes are clean and shiny again.
If you enjoy reading my blogs, you can read more tales in my books,
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I had hoped that a dog would help me regain my fitness. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this ten-week-old bundle of fluff would grow into a fantastic dog with the most beautiful soul. This dog set about teaching me to love life again.
Over the next ten years, we walked up mountains in Scotland and got lost in the snow on more than one occasion. I had to be airlifted off a Munro when I had a heart attack. We swam in rivers, lochs and the sea and shared our thoughts on so many occasions.
But Beatrix was quite envious that I’d written a book and announced she’d like to write a book herself. After trying to type on the laptop, she asked if I could type the words if she told her story to me. It was my pleasure to do so.
Beatrix began her story at her birth in the tiny hamlet of Dalguise. Tales of adjusting to life as a human dog, getting used to cars, walking on the hills, and playing ball with her dad (Mr M) began to flow.
One day, on Ben Ledi, Beatrix revealed to me her secret time-travelling adventures. These included six little kittens in Denmark and a trip to Filey.
By November 2022, she had told me all her stories. I had these safely stored in my mind and on my computer (in several places). Leaving me to finish the final chapter, Beatrix sadly crossed the dog rainbow bridge.
Finishing the book took a whole load of heartache and soul searching. But Friday, 23rd June 2023, saw the official launch of Beatrix The Time Travelling Collie.
I decided to have my in-person book launch at the Woodhill Evangelical Church and The Hubb Cafe in Bishopbriggs because it is such a fantastic venue. I had a wobble as I organised this, discovering that the hall could hold 250 people. Was I important enough to stand up in such an auditorium? But I reminded myself that I was, and so long as I had more guests than just Mr M, the evening would be a success. I wanted to make Beatrix proud.
So, Friday, 23rd June, with books published, a new book dress purchased, and cakes baked, I set off to Bishopbriggs for my launch.
Salena, my good friend, and fellow left-handed Yorkshire lass, had offered to be my support act and keep an eye on proceedings.
Brian from Woodhill Church was there to look after the technical side and the music.
I wanted the evening to be a relaxed, fun affair and planned to have Cat Stevens playing in the background. He was too busy appearing at Glastonbury to attend my book launch in person, so it had to be a CD. To my horror, my copies of my Cat Stevens CD jumped on one or more tracks. So, a quick order on good old Amazon found a new, unscratched CD landing on my porch floor the day before the launch. Phew!
I wanted to capture the evening on camera, but I knew I had limited photography skills and, of course, I’d be talking and not taking photos. I wondered. Looking at the list of ticket sales, the name of one guest jumped out: Greg Friel. A few kind words later (ok, I may have begged!), Greg offered his services as a photographer for the night.
I also hoped to sell lots of books - well that’s the whole point of a book launch isn't it? I thought bringing along my first book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill, would also be a good idea. So, I baked a selection of cakes for the guests; lemon drizzle, coffee cake and Victoria sponge - all gluten- and dairy-free. Salena and a few other guests were coeliac, so this was an extra thank you to them from me by providing cakes they could enjoy.
To my delight, Mr M was on general chat duty to everyone (not a problem), and he donned his splendid kilt outfit for the evening. I love a man in a kilt.
After checking my slides (photos only–this would be no death by PowerPoint) and my Madonna-style microphone, I glanced around the large, empty hall.
Would anybody turn up?
Why would anyone bother turning out to listen to me ramble on about my dog?
Greg was the first to arrive, ladened with his selection of cameras and lenses that a proper photographer needs. I asked him if, when taking his photos, he could make an empty hall look full. He laughed and told me not to worry as people would come. I believe at that moment in time I could hear Sting singing Fields of Gold.
But at 6.55 pm, people did indeed appear—lots of people.
I think it shows just how much of an effect dogs can have on people. Some people came who didn’t know me or Beatrix but wanted to learn more about a book written by a Border Collie.
Jessica from The Ricketty Desk came with her family. Jessica created all the fabulous illustrations in the book during meetings at The Blend Coffee Lounge in Dunfermline. Most meetings involved at least two coffees and two cakes (no sharing).
More friends and family arrived, all smiling and supporting me. People from my writing group, customers from the tearoom, network group members, neighbours, fellow dog walkers and people I knew from previous job roles all took their seats.
A heartwarming moment for me was when I saw Kathryn and Jill, two team members from Vets at Home - Pets at Home - in Bishopbriggs, arrive and take their seats. So many people loved Beatrix.
I’d decided that I would talk without notes. My non-essential tremor in my left hand always seems worse when nervous (yes, I’m nervous when I first start to speak). I had prepared my slides with carefully chosen photos close to my heart so they would prompt me for my words.
The venue has a great setup in that as a speaker looking out on the crowds, there is also a copy of the slides on the wall above the seats, so there is no need to have a laptop, notes or keep looking back on the main screen. A large clock on the same wall allowed me to keep track of the time and not ramble on too long – I needed to ensure plenty of time after my talk for the book signing, chatting and cake eating.
Salena did a fabulous job as a support act—even though she told people I used to be a pole dancer!
I was distracted shortly into my talk when a lady walked down the aisle carrying a massive bouquet of beautiful purple flowers (purple is my favourite colour). The card read, ‘To Mum, from Beatrix’, with a paw print. My eyes misted over a little at this point. I suspect Mr M had a hand in this.
I loved telling my story of how the book developed, showing the photos, and then answering questions. But it was surreal after my talk when I was sitting at a desk with books in front of me. I looked up and saw a queue of people waiting for me to sign their books. Not only had people given up their valuable time to come along and listen to me, but they were now spending their hard-earned money buying my book. And they wanted me to sign it for them! I felt humbled and a million dollars at the same time.
My only regret from the evening was that I had only a few minutes to chat with each guest as we enjoyed tea and cakes organised by Rhondda. I needed to talk longer, but I wanted to make sure I spoke to everyone who attended my event.
I went home that night and shed a few tears for Beatrix. People might think I wrote the book because Beatrix had died, but I had expected Beatrix to be by my side at the launch. I like to believe she was with me there in spirit.
Then it was getting ready for my Zoom launch on Monday, 26th June. Covid did a lot of damage to the world and society, but gave rise to Zoom events. This has given people from far and wide the opportunity to attend events when distance could prevent them from attending.
Salena had volunteered to be the host again. Another friend, Erika, was organising the Zoom, keeping the waiting room in order, letting guests in, and ensuring the technical side ran smoothly.
Again, I worried nobody would attend. But at 6.55 pm, Erika opened the waiting room door, and guests flooded in, and I saw more friends, acquaintances, and people I didn’t know.
Rakesh came along, and I could thank him publicly for all his support in controlling my IT systems and finding my lost documents.
At the online launch, there were no cakes, but I like to think everyone enjoyed it as much as those at the in-person event.
All that’s left to say now is thank you to you all for supporting me in getting Beatrix The Time Travelling Collie published.
And, of course, have you bought your copy yet?
As always, I hope you enjoy reading my blog and please leave me a comment.
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I met with myself today at The Hubb in Bishopbriggs (the other person didn’t show up!). With my latte and strawberry tart, I discussed the chances of me ever achieving my impossible dream of cycling from Kirkintilloch to Halifax. I debated whether I was a cyclist, a walker, or a swimmer, and my conscience suggested that perhaps I was once a mermaid. With sore feet, ankles, and shoulders, the idea of being a mermaid was even more appealing than my fresh cream delight. A mermaid I would become until my feet, ankles and shoulders allow me to continue to fight to achieve my impossible dream.
Finishing the strawberry tart - discreetly licking the last crumbs off the plate - I thought I’d make my next blog about my love of swimming.
Learning to Swim
Many people tell tales of how they had been scared of the swimming pools and the horrible lessons they had to endure before they could finally manage a doggy paddle across the width of the small pool. Not me. How did I learn to swim? On my first visit to a pool at age five or six, my older sister received praise for doing somersaults into the water.
“Look, Debra. You can’t even do a somersault on the floor, and you can’t swim, so you’ll never be able to somersault into the water,” she gloated.
At that moment, I first learned to perform a somersault into the swimming pool’s deep end. The second, more important thing I quickly learned to do simultaneously was to swim. Yes, that’s how it happened to me. One minute I’d never been in a swimming pool; the next, I could swim.
I’m of an age when infant and junior school meant a weekly visit to the small local pool, Moorside. This pool has probably been demolished, filled in, turned into apartment blocks, or serves speciality gins. I loved swimming, and the headteacher recommended my mum enrol me into the local swimming club as I showed outstanding talent. I thought that would be perfect because my boyfriend had already joined this swimming club. Yes, I had a boyfriend at infant and junior school; Terry White was his name. I knew he was my boyfriend because I shared my Kop Kopp sweets with him. If you don’t know what a Kop Kopp is, look it up and find where to get hold of some. They are to die for! I also knew that I was Terry’s girlfriend all those years ago because he would let me play goalie at playtime in football matches.
I still don’t like football!
But my mum enrolled me in the Halifax Swimming Club, and I had fantastic times swimming for fun, training and competing. My favourite stroke was the front crawl, followed closely by breaststroke. I could do a not-too-badly performed butterfly, but I was never keen on backstroke.
However, coming from a poor Yorkshire family (you can weep appropriately here now if you wish), there was no car and limited spare funds. So even if my mum could pay for some lessons, I couldn’t attend as many as other members who had more pennies and a car. As much as I tried, my natural ability to swim was never quite enough to keep up with my team members. Including, I have to point out here, my boyfriend.
Leaving Abbey Park Junior and Infants School, I passed my eleven-plus exam and enrolled in the Princess Mary Grammar School in Halifax. To my utter joy, this school (an all-girls school) had a terrific record for sporting achievements in athletics, netball, hockey, and swimming. I was beside myself. Being forced to wear a pleated skirt and navy gabardine was worth it for the sporting activities I could try in my time there.
Down the road from the school was Park Lane swimming pool, and I would have swimming lessons once, possibly twice a week at this pool. Park Lane was the same pool I had been swimming at with the Halifax Swimming Club. What a coincidence. It felt like I was swimming in a pool that I knew like the back of my hand.
Over the next few years, I completed all the swimming awards I could, including the bronze, silver, gold, and honours life-saving courses. I raced in different competitions and even represented Calderdale on one occasion.
My out-of-school swimming suddenly improved when a new girl arrived at Princess Mary’s. By this time, most girls there had become gang members and had many friends. My friends were my spiked running shoes, football boots (for playing hockey, not football!), and swimming costume. This new girl became my best friend and still is. Karen even has a cake named after her in my book, Karen’s Chocolate Fudge Cake.
Anyway, Karen loved all the sports I loved, including swimming. We quickly got into the habit of walking into Halifax after school to the Halifax Swimming Pool, perhaps two or three times a week. We swam. Just swam. No talking or playing about in the water, no racing, no competing against each other; we just swam together, enjoying each other’s company and support in a hobby we both loved.
Swimming has remained a huge part of my life. I’m pleased to say that I taught my children, Benjamin, and Chloe, to swim as young children, and they are both talented swimmers.
Benjamin took swimming to a new level when he began wild swimming, including the Great North Swim across Windermere. I was so proud of him for doing this, but I didn’t feel brave enough to swim in open water.
I have to tell you about my fear of water. Yes, fear. Although I am a strong swimmer, I have two fears in the swimming pool. First, I panic if I swim over the vent at the bottom of the pool. Please don’t ask me why because there is no logical reason for this, and nothing has ever happened to give me this fear. I force myself to swim over the vent, but I still feel myself taking that extra sharp breath. My second fear is when the swimming pool is dead still, and the water has no ripples. Again, this is an irrational fear. In my competing years, I had nightmares about being on the starting block and the pool dead still. I would have to wait until my competitors had dived into the pool ahead of me to ripple the water for me. No, that never happened, but the fear was real.
Over the years, I have listened to Benjamin’s tales of his wild swimming and seen his amazing photos of places he’s visited.
A couple of years ago, Benjamin finally persuaded me to pluck up the courage to take a dip in Grasmere Water in the Lake District. I took a little time to get into the water and thought I would freeze to death. But, once I had taken that last step to be deep enough to swim, I was away. It was amazing. It’s true that once you’re in the water, you stop feeling the cold (almost). I must admit to having a little tear at the liberating sense of freedom swimming and relaxing in such clear water. Oddly, I loved seeing the bottom of the lake as I swam and had no fear of this. Maybe it was because I knew there would be no vents!
As I swam around, I watched in awe at the surrounding scenery, seeing it from a different view from in the water. Looking up at The Lion and The Lamb (Helm Cragg), I thought of William Wordsworth and his description of Grasmere as “the loveliest spot that man hath ever found”. Indeed, it is.
Since that first dip, I’ve ventured into Rydal Water, Coniston Water, and Derwent Water. I’ve swum in a couple of rivers in Scotland, the sea on the west coast of Scotland and the sea at Filey in Yorkshire.
Beatrix didn’t believe I was a strong swimmer because she would often get into a bit of a panic and try to save me. I suppose she knew I was accident prone and clumsy, didn’t she?
Then, unbeknown to me, my best friend Karen, now living near the Yorkshire Dales, had also taken up cold water swimming. On one of my trips down to see her last year, she took me to swim in the River Wharfe. Boy, that was cold. But how amazing it was to swim with my old pal and still share the same hobby.
Over the last 12 months, I’ve struggled with my fitness and have put on lots of weight. But last week, we had seven days in the Lake District, where it was just too hot not to swim in the clear waters. I invested in swimming socks and some hard-soled shoes. Using my walking pole to steady me, once I could feel the support of the water around me, I tossed the pole to the shore, and away I went.
The pains, aches, stresses, and worries all left me for the time I was back in the water. I repeated this to swim in Grasmere again, and it amazed me how I could see the fish swimming alongside me. No fear of vents here.
Florence, our new Border Collie, hasn't found her swimming legs yet, so she just watched, wondering what on earth Mummy was doing.
Tomorrow will see me heading down to my leisure centre in Kirkintilloch and getting a membership for the gym and the swimming pool. The gym will help to build up some strength in my bones, but the swimming pool, well, that might save my sanity.
So, say hello if anyone sees a mermaid swimming in the Kirky pool over the coming months. Just don’t expect me to stand at the side of the pool chatting.
If you enjoyed reading about my adventures, why not look at my two books, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill and Beatrix The Time Travelling Collie?
You might even want to come along to my book launches. There’s an in-person event and on-line for those not near Kirkintilloch.
As always, I hope you've enjoyed my blog.
Debra x
Please leave a comment.
]]>I’ve heard the saying that time goes by much faster when you get older, and I can tell you it’s true.
Christmas is long gone, but not far away! Hogmanay is a distant memory, and Valentine’s Day is back in its box until next year when it will jump out of its box with style because 2024 is a leap year. Get those proposals ready!
I’m very fortunate that I’m at a stage in my life when I no longer wonder if anyone will want to send me a Valentine’s card, and I don’t have to worry if there’s nobody I might wish to send a card to.
I met Mr M two days before Valentine’s Day in 2005, and since that day, I’ve never wondered. I know for sure that I’ll receive a card and perhaps some Cadbury’s Dairy Milk from Mr M, and I know I’ll send him an equally appropriately slushy card (but no chocolate). But, as a couple, we don’t fall for the great hype for Valentine’s Day - expensive gifts, over-priced meals, or hotel stays. No, just a card does it for us (and chocolate for me, of course).
Of course, we are just mere humans. Beatrix tries to teach us something in each chapter of her book, including her views on only celebrating love once a year.
From Chapter 10, Eating Too Many Snacks
A few years before I became a human dog, my human mum and dad were married on the Isle of Skye. I’m not sure what this marriage thing is, but it seems to be something Mum and Dad like to celebrate every year because they’ve chosen to live together for the rest of their lives. I get to go everywhere with them, so celebrating is always a good thing in my books, but I’m a bit confused why they don’t celebrate being together every day, not just once a year.
“Mum,” I asked, “why do you and Dad only celebrate being together one day each year? I want to celebrate every single day now that I’m a human dog and get to spend my life with you and Dad.”
“Beatrix, you’re such a clever dog. But just because we don’t say it aloud doesn’t mean we don’t celebrate each day we’re together. People are not as straightforward in their emotions as dogs, and sometimes we don’t let others know how special they are,” answered Mum.
And with that, Mum went over to Dad and gave him a kiss and a cuddle.
If you would like the chance to win a signed copy of Beatrix The Time Travelling Collie, why not join in the competition currently on our Mother Murphy’s Facebook page? Each day for thirty days, I am posting a photo of Beatrix and asking people to comment on what they thought Beatrix was thinking or saying. At the end of the thirty days, I will decide which I think is the best comment (which I can already sense is going to be so difficult as there are so many excellent comments already).
Click here to go to our Facebook page for Thirty Days of Beatrix
It’s still a strange time in our house - bittersweet. We are still consumed with grief at the loss of Beatrix but now have a new bundle of joy, Florence (who I might rename Zebedee). She will never replace Beatrix, but she will help to start the healing process. I’ve often thought that if Beatrix had been a human, she would have been a head teacher. Well, if Florence were a human, she would be in prison!
I’m also still grieving the loss of Mother Murphy’s Tearoom. I know it was in March 2020 when Boris first closed all hospitality because of COVID-19, but it still feels like yesterday.
Many of you know I diversified Mother Murphy’s becoming an online business with monthly boxes of cakes being sent far and wide, including overseas, to France. But, once I had a new business model, and cakes had been tweaked and tossed around our kitchen to ensure they would survive being delivered by Royal Mail’s trusty posties, I realised it wasn’t enough.
One thing I miss from the tearoom is creating recipes for cakes and bakes. As many of you know, our tearoom specialised in gluten-free and dairy-free goodies. I loved it when a customer (or member of our tearoom family as I like to think of them) came into the tearoom and told me of a cake, bake or biscuit they missed because they couldn’t get a decent gluten or dairy-free one. I would spend hours in our kitchen at home (with lots of food waste generated sometimes) until I had created what I thought was a scrummy success. Of course, the proof was always, as they say, in the eating. Our customers were always willing taste-testers. But the best people to test my gluten and dairy-free recipes were those who didn’t need gluten or dairy-free food. I aimed to create gluten and dairy-free goodies that taste as good as, if not better than, wheat and dairy-containing recipes.
As many people would confirm, I am proud to say I accomplished this for many cakes, bakes and biscuits, including my family-favourite biscuit selection of digestives, bourbon creams, nice biscuits, jammie dodgers and custard creams. And let’s not forget the white chocolate fudge cake.
Now I have a challenge for you. Although I’m not selling my cakes and bakes at the moment, I still love to bake. Of course, I still love to eat cakes too. Anyway, I’d like you to tell me of cakes, bakes or biscuits you miss because you cannot have them as you need them to be gluten or dairy free.
Who knows, these might find themselves in another recipe book or tearoom if I ever get to create another Mother Murphy’s Tearoom.
Thank you for reading my blog, and, as always, please leave a comment for me.
I hope that by the next blog, I will have more news about pre-sales for Beatrix the Time Travelling Collie and a date for the book launch.
Debra x
]]>Erm. Here's how my blue day panned out.
I was up with the larks. Yes, the birds were singing this morning at 7.00 am. They obviously didn't realise it was Blue Monday.
I've just started a new part-time job, and today I was booked onto an epilepsy course. To get there, I had to travel from Kirkintilloch to Govan to the amazing Epilepsy Centre.
By the time I set off, Mr M had thawed my car and scraped all the ice from the windscreen (so he tells me). Maybe his hands were blue doing this?
Anyone who lives near Glasgow will know that the M8 is an absolute nightmare at the moment with the roadworks. But not even the nose-to-tail traffic could spoil my drive this morning. The sky was blue; the sun shining and oh, my, the views over to Ben Lomond were stunning, with the mountain tops covered in snow.
Memory after memory filled my mind of the adventures I've had in the Scottish Mountains, with and without Beatrix and Mr M. I was trying hard to feel blue, but I couldn't quite manage it. I smiled at the times Beatrix used her body as a sledge on Ben Ledi or the time she ran around with a sheep's leg in her mouth as I tried to fasten my crampons over my boots (the leg was already detached from the dead sheep).
Mr Google ensured I arrived at the training venue with plenty of time to spare for a hot cup of tea and a biscuit before the start of the course.
After what was an excellent course, with a great deal of information shared and knowledge gained, I left Govan holding my certificate and set off for the drive home.
I was still trying very hard to be blue (because the radio continued to tell me I was), but I was smiling because there was still plenty of daylight, so spring must be around the corner.
Stop it, Debra, I told myself. You have to be blue. It's blue Monday.
Opening the back door at home, I was met with the delicious smell of stew cooking in the slow cooker, and Mr M giving me a cheeky kiss.
A very blue day indeed.
Tonight I'm editing more of Beatrix's book, but I have Cadbury's Dairy Milk to keep me company.
The chapter I'm looking at involves Beatrix talking about her dog walker, Tricia, from Campsie K9, which still has a picture of Beatrix on its cover photo. I giggled to myself, remembering at the time Beatrix had to apologise to Tricia because she refused to come out of the water (Beatrix, not Tricia). I looked at Tricia's Facebook page and all the fantastic pictures she shares every day of her buddies made me smile once more.
And there it is. I'm very sorry to everyone on the radio who told me I should be blue today, but I have been far from blue.
How has your day been?
Oh, and just to make sure I'm not blue at all, it would be great to see more people signing up for our newsletter so I can share my ramblings with more of you. It's free, and I promise you I won't bombard you with email after email, but you will never need to worry about missing any of my blogs again.
You will also never miss important events, like book launches. Yes, there will be another book launch soon. Beatrix the Time Travelling Collie is nearly ready.
Scroll right down to the bottom of this page, and you can subscribe to our newsletter.
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A belated Happy New Year to everyone.
Our festive period was surprisingly joyous, despite missing our beloved Beatrix, as we had family visiting us for the first time in what seemed like years. Chloe and Neill were happy to leave little Minnie and Harley with us at night, as they enjoyed their two nights tucked up in a local hotel enjoying some well-earned sleep.
Benjamin, despite his age (which I will not remind you of because then I'd have to admit to being well over 30 years old myself!), was super excited to spend a couple of nights sleeping in Evie the campervan on our drive. He was the warmest one of us as we allowed him to have the heating on in the van whilst we were all cuddled up in hoodies in the house.
Boxing Day saw us having Christmas Dinner, round two, with Karen, Allan, Pat and Ian joining us. Allan won the annual Christmas quiz again! There's always next year; I keep telling myself.
And, without getting into a debate here, because we all know that Christmas Dinner must, at all costs, include Yorkshire puddings, my Yorkshire's were enormous both days. I was a proud Yorkshire lass.
One of my surprise presents from Mr M was a book about my hero, Beryl Burton. What an incredible person she was. I raced against her many times in time trials years ago but happily admit to coming nowhere near her extraordinary times.
But, the book has inspired me once more to become the cyclist I used to be. Ok, I'll never be as fit and svelte as I used to be, but I can still be the best I can be.
Last year, I started my Aim for the Impossible Challenge - to cycle from Kirkintilloch to Halifax, and my rides had covered some good miles, with the last ride being 60 miles or so. But then different things took over. Holidays, carpet cleaning and Beatrix having a big operation in August. Cycling once again took a back seat.
I'm quite ashamed to say that over the last few months, I've done minimal exercise and, combined with a job that included sleepovers and boredom eating, my fitness has all but disappeared, and my weight has vastly increased. Another reason you will never catch me wearing a skin suit on my bike!
However, reading the book it reminded me of my old cycling days when I went everywhere on my bike. I cycled to work and back five times a week (oh, the days when most of us worked simply Monday to Friday). I went on a couple of training runs, social runs on a Wednesday night that included a cider or two, and long club runs on a Sunday (if I was not in a road race or time trial). It's no wonder I was so fit then.
On Wednesday night, looking up from my plate of Toblerone, mince pies and Pringles, I announced to Mr M that I'd be going cycling in the morning. In his unique way, Mr M raised one eyebrow and returned to munching his supply of cheese, biscuits, and shortbread.
After a plate of Mr M's lovely porridge the following morning, I set about hunting for cycling gear to fit. It would appear that over the last few months, my cycling clothes have shrunk. But, not deterred, I found enough gear to cover all my bits and pieces and then top all this with a layer of waterproofs for the lovely Scottish rain that was teeming down from the heavens. Was Beatrix laughing at my expense, I wondered? Previously, if I were going cycling, I would have to get ready in secret so that Beatrix couldn't see me. She was never pleased to see me going out on my bike and not walking in the hills with her. It wasn't the first time I had to get dressed in the kitchen and sneak out of the back door, not looking back at the window as I cycled away because I couldn't handle the look she gave me. She could take me down the guilt trip with just one of her looks!
Now I'm not daft and knew I would only be able to cycle a few miles, so I opted for a short spin on the local Sustrans' cycle path from Kirkintilloch to Clachan of Campsie. A round trip of just ten miles, but enough to get the legs rolling again, and I just about managed to get up the last hill at Hillhead before reaching the comfort of my home once more.
Friday, I opted for a rest day. Even Beryl had rest days. Of course, my real reason for the rest day was to meet with Jess from the Rickety Desk to discuss the sketches for Beatrix's book. Sitting comfortably in the fabulous Abbot House Coffee House, we chatted, laughed, drank coffee, ate cakes and remembered Beatrix and her adventures, selecting photos and planning drawings.
Exciting times indeed, and I'm sure Beatrix would be pleased with the images Jess is creating. It shouldn't be long before I can tell you about pre-orders and my book launch. This one will be a real one, not on zoom. I'll be looking for suitable venues, so if you have a suggestion, please let me know.
Today I decided I'd get back out on the bike. I'm a serious cyclist now, you know! I had the same palava with the cycling gear and was horrified to find that even after the cycle on Thursday, my body still appeared larger than the cycling gear I own. But, togged up against the rain, yes, it was raining again; I set off for the same short cycle out to Clachan of Campsie. This time I opted for the road rather than the cycle path but returned along the flat, easy track back to Kirkintilloch. Hillhead was still an effort, but I felt much better.
I'm also busy looking back through all my photos of Beatrix to help Jess and her illustrations. I came across some pictures from our adventures during the Beast from the East in 2018. This was when Beatrix was telling me I was going the wrong way. Looking closely, you can see she is pointing the way but looking across at me.
Tonight I'm working on editing Beatrix's book and trying to finalise the cover. I believe that the bit on the back of the book cover is called the promise, and I thought you might like to have a read of this draft "promise". Let me know what you think.
*****
Do dogs have a sense of humour?
Beautiful, intelligent, caring, loyal, funny, energetic, and stone-obsessed; if Beatrix had been a human, which she believed she was, she would probably have been a head teacher.
This is a tale of companionship and adventure; funny, frightening, and at times mystical, but always revealing the true nature of this fantastic dog. With a feel-good factor, it looks at human life, habits and language as seen through a dog's eyes.
At birth, she was named Beinn Fhada, but as a ten-week-old puppy, she was taken from her dog family to get a new human mummy and daddy and re-named Beatrix.
True life adventures include having to summon help for her poorly human mum and finding herself left behind on the mountain, watching her mum being whisked away in a helicopter.
Then there’s the time she found a hypothermic human on the hills but could only watch in horror as her mum shared their picnic with the cold human.
The book also tells of when she accidentally chased skiers down a mountain and thought she’d killed her human mum.
A thoroughbred border collie, she had many obsessions, including sticks, stones and balls. But the funniest of these must be the handmade baby Jesus from her mum’s nativity scene, but she was never allowed to eat him.
Now she travels through time.
This dog needs a sense of humour!
Which tales are true, and which fiction? Only Beatrix knows for sure.
*****
Tomorrow I plan another cycle. But tomorrow is another day. Tonight I have Pringles to finish, and I do believe there may be some Christmas pudding.
As always, I hope you have enjoyed my ramblings. Please leave a comment once you've read my blog.
With love, Debra x
]]>After my failed attempt to cycle to Crianlarich in episode six, this last few days have been spent checking tyres and ensuring that all dead innertubes were discarded.
Of course, just as Mr M predicated as he picked me up from Glen Ogle, this week I planned to redo my route to Crianlarich Station. My cycling day was to be Sunday, which gave the added bonus that the train from Crianlarich wouldn’t be leaving until 17.30 rather than 16.00 so my cycling day would not be quite so time tight.
As I was following exactly the same route as last week, rather than simply repeating the sights and roads from episode six, I thought I’d just pick up my route from above Lochearnhead.
Once up the ridiculously steep twisting cycle path from Lochearnhead, I was soon on the old railway line making the gentle ascent up to Glen Ogle. I had plenty time to allow me to take it easy and still catch the train. My bike of course, was already booked on the train.
Although I didn’t have the worry of time this week, in my mind I believed I’d picked up last week’s puncture somewhere along this slightly rough cycle tack heading up to Glen Ogle, so the three miles up this gentle incline were very slow this week as I tried to avoid every single thorn, sharp stone or anything that might once again cause my tyre to deflate.
“Get a grip Debra,” I told myself on several occasions, reminding myself that I’ve cycled up this track many times before without mishap and really the chances of me picking up another puncture in the same place as last week were unlikely (but not impossible!).
With every bump, thud or crunch I was expecting the dreaded puncture but with a sigh of relief I reached the top of Glen Ogle viaduct beside the pretty Lochan Lairig Cheile.
I’ve never really taken time to look at this loch but today I gave myself a little break and enjoyed the tranquillity. Scotland has some amazing places just waiting to be found. The loch was so still and surrounded on all sides by wonderful trees of different varieties and colours.
I imagined the joy and excitement my son, Benjamin, would feel at finding this loch as a new place to try some wild swimming and did what any caring mother would do. I sent him a little video (event though he is miles away in Halifax). His reply confirmed that he was indeed seriously impressed with my find.
Hopefully one day I’ll do some more cycling with Ben in Scotland and I think this route 7 is just perfect for that, with so many secret wild swimming opportunities.
From Glen Ogle, the cycle route sweeps down to the village of Killin and beyond so from here I would be cycling on the main A84 to Crianlarich. It’s just about twelve miles with the road for most of the way wide enough for cars to see you and easily pass you without any difficulty. The speed limit on this road has now been reduced to 50 mph most of the way, which I’m glad of, even when travelling by car.
When I first came up to Scotland many, many years ago to climb Ben Nevis I was absolutely blown away by the scenery. I remember how, along with my two friends Sally and Julie, over every hill as we drove up from Halifax, we speculated which of the many mountains we could see was Ben Nevis.
The road from Glen Ogle to Crianlarich provides view after view. The Lawers range is behind you, with the twin peaks of Ben More and Stob Binnein taking centre stage.
The road was quite easy cycling today as I had a great tail wind helping me along. There are no major hills, just a few rises but plenty of flat stretches. Of course, with the views of mountain after mountain, the miles were soon falling away.
Mind you, I was mightily relieved when I finally saw the 30mph sign indicating I was at last reaching my final destination of Crianlarich. I did the obligatory photo shoot of the impressive Crianlarich sign before heading through the tiny village and up to the station. There was no way I’d be missing the train this week!
Crianlarich is a small but important village. It’s bit of a link between central and North-western Scotland. It’s at this station where the West Highland railway splits, with one branch heading out to the west and Oban with the other branch continuing on to Fort Willian and Mallaig. There is always the worry when you get on the train at Glasgow Queen Street station that you might be in the wrong carriage and find yourself heading out to the wrong destination when the train splits at Crianlarich. I remember one occasion when the train announcement in the carriage informed all the passengers which train we needed to be in, only to find that once we reached Crianlarich the guard told us that there’d been a mistake and we all had to quickly change carriages! The sleepy station of Crianlarich was a site of mass panic that day I can tell you!
Once settled at the station I had a quite a wait but took the time to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet of this tiny station surrounded by mountains. Of course, Mr M had made an extra butty for me for the long day. Flask of tea, butty, Charlotte’s Fab Slice (my go to treat for an energy boost) and the time drifted by.
Crianlarich is now my favourite station. I will be back!
With absolute precision, which is quite amazing given the train had travelled all the way from Mallaig, the train trundled into the station.
It used to be that there’d be a carriage where you had to hang your bike up by the front wheel, which is tricky when carrying paniers and water bottles! But times have changed and now there’s a whole carriage where you simply slot your bike in the rack with it standing up and then find yourself a seat and relax.
I’d like to describe to you the scenic train journey and tell you the joys of traveling in comfort alongside Loch Lomond, but almost as soon as the train had left Crianlarich, The Sandman caught up with me and I had a little well earned snooze, waking up to find I’d been slavering down my chin (and had probably been snoring) and the train was now approaching Dumbarton. It had been a long day!
Oh, just in case anyone’s not familiar with The Sandman. He’s a mythical character who puts people to sleep and inspires beautiful dreams by sprinkling magical sand into their eyes. And that’s why people rub their eyes when they’re tired.
Before too long, Glasgow Queen Street station was reached and I had a leisurely change of trains and waited for the next train to Lenzie.
After the short train ride and then the last 3.5 miles of cycling, I was soon back home, showered and in clean pyjamas.
It was by now quite late and being quite exhausted I didn’t really want any tea so Mr M, for the second time today, served up freshly cooked porridge.
I’ve said it before, spoiled, but I know I am.
Sixty miles cycled and I’m feeling very proud of how my miles are increasing and my fitness has improved.
My plan to cycle to Halifax is now starting to seem less of an impossible task. Not next week or the week after, but definitely by the end of Summer 2023.
If you've missed previous episodes, here are the links for a couple of the latest ones. You can of course see them all on the blog page.
I'm busy recording all my Aim for the Impossible blogs and turning them into podcasts for you to listen to. Bear with me as I get my head all around this recording stuff.
Don't forget, that it's lovely to get comments on the the blog. Let me know if you are enjoying them.
I was pleasantly surprised how easy I found this road today compared to my last trip up here. There’s something lovely about cycling early in the morning. The birds are singing their songs to each other; the lambs are just waking up and there’s a peaceful feel to the world. The Crow Road was very quiet today, and I was soon approaching the carpark. I thought about trying not to have a stop at this carpark today, but the cold early morning air was getting to me. I knew I’d need to put my gloves on for the descent to Fintry, and I also had a bit of an urge for a call of nature. As I pulled into the carpark, there was just one single car in it. Taking a glance into its window, there was nobody to be seen in the car, so I found my spot behind the wall and did what I needed to do. As I came back around the wall, the car’s engine started and the driver, who seemed to appear from nowhere, reversed and quickly left the car park. I felt slightly embarrassed, but you know how it is when you need to go, you need to go. I chuckled to myself, thinking, “At least my bum’s smaller now if they saw anything”.
All sorted and my shame lifted, I continued my way up the hill with my hands now toastie in gloves. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the hill was not getting the better of me and I could actually feel some power in my thighs. Today was going to be a good day. I could feel it.
The views, as always, on this stretch of road, never fail to disappoint. I wonder how many people living in East Dunbartonshire realise just how close they live to these hills and how a short journey could give them a taste of the Trossachs. Meikle Bin on your right stands proud, a mountain in its own right, but not quite a Munro, more a Marilyn, at just 5570 metres (1879ft). On a clear day, the views at the summit of Meikle Bin are simply amazing and stretch out as far as Ailsa Craig on the West Coast and Bass Rock on the East.
Beginning the sweeping descent, I was glad of my gloves and zipped my jacket right up, pulling my bandana down over my ears. It was cold!
Ever since I moved to Kirkintilloch some seventeen years ago, two houses have been under construction on this road. Seventeen years to build a house! I wonder if there’s some sort of financial benefit to keeping scaffolding outside your house, perhaps lower council tax? There must be some reason these houses look lived in but never seem quite finished.
Continuing with the descent, avoiding the increasingly numerous and larger potholes, peering through my now watering eyes, I could still admire the ever-opening view of the Trossachs with Ben Lomond looking proud as ever. It was still early and I don’t think I saw more than one or two cars all the way from Lennoxtown to Fintry.
Arriving at Fintry with cold feet, I was glad to be finished with the long descent but knew the hills to come would soon warm me back up. Taking a right at the village crossroads, I was now heading towards Kippen, just short of seven miles away. Don’t be mistaken though, the road up from Fintry is a bit of a climb, not as steep as the Crow Road, but still a test. Today I was blessed with bright yellow gorse lining both sides of the road. What a sight! What a smell! We think we’re fabulous as humans with the things we create, but Mother Nature beats us hands down every time.
As you reach the summit, there’s a large layby where you can pull in and admire the views once again. A little road veers off to the left down through Arnprior, but that’s killer of a road, so I’m following the road to the right to sweep down all the way to Kippen.
Kippen is a pretty village with several little shops and a tearoom, but I wasn’t ready for a stop just yet. My aim was to get to Callander, my halfway point, where I would check how long it had taken me to get there before making my decision whether to continue to Crianlarich.
From Kippen I was heading out on the B822 to Callander, through Thornhill, ten miles away. There’s a bit of a busy junction to cross the main A811, but it’s now a roundabout and not too bad, so long as you keep your wits about you. As I described in my last blog, the area around Thornhill is very flat and you’re passing alongside Flanders Moss. This stretch of road was a dream. There was a bit of a head wind, but nothing too strong. Passing through gentle farmland, including an alpaca farm, it really was a peaceful Monday morning. I could feel all the weight of everyday life falling off me as I made my way easily along my route. There was a little of climbing just to keep me on my toes, but before I knew it, I was making the final descent into Callander.
First stop was the toilets. Cold air, cycling and an age thing! But to my horror, I found the ladies’ toilet locked. There was a crowd of people outside the gents’ toilet who informed me that everyone was having to use the gents’, but there were only ladies in there at the moment. So, I risked it. I can honestly say this was the first time I can think that I’ve been in a gents’ toilet. I quickly headed into a cubical but on leaving, to my horror, found that it was no longer just females using the facilities! Averting my eyes, I quickly washed my hands before escaping the strange situation I found myself in. At least this time, it wasn’t my bare flesh on display!
However, the good news was that I’d made excellent time and still felt good so could continue with my plan to cycle to Crianlarich. I was now at my halfway point. Thirty miles done, thirty miles still to do.
Callander today was quiet, and I easily found myself an empty picnic table to sit at. A brief rain shower forced me to put on my waterproof jacket and the cover onto my saddle bag. Cycling gear has two purposes, really. The first is to keep you warm and dry and the second to make you visible, especially in poor weather. My yellow jacket and yellow saddle bag cover both have luminous strips on them so not only are they bright to be seen, but they also light up when headlights shine on them.
Of course, once I’d got my bag and myself covered, the rain promptly stopped.
Being well ahead of time, I allowed myself a wonderful break to rest, but only half of my butties. The rest I’d have at the station or on the train, but don’t worry, there was a cake in the form of lemon, rosewater and pistachio to go with my half buttie and flask of tea.
Now, even though I was feeling quite good, if I was honest, the thought of doing another thirty miles was quite daunting. I decided I’d cut the second half of my cycle into manageable chunks. You know the saying, “I couldn’t eat a whole elephant, but I could eat it in chunks”.
Let’s make it clear though for all those people now dialling animal welfare departments, I will never attempt to eat even a little part of an elephant!
My first chunk was Callander to Strathyre, about nine miles. Leaving Callander, I joined the now familiar Route 7 cycle track. I know this section fairly well and enjoyed the gentle cycle, slightly uphill in places, alongside the Falls of Lenny, which should have been impressive, but were worryingly almost non-existent in places. We clearly have not had enough rain this winter.
Once you reach the carpark for those aiming to tackle Ben Ledi, the track continues beyond Strathyre lodges but becomes quite rough for narrow tyres. I re-joined the main road here by cycling along the metal bridge and taking a left onto the A84. This is a busy main road, so if you’re nervous in traffic, just stay on the cycle track if your tyres can cope.
Today, the A84 was fairly quiet. This is a lovely stretch of road, following the banks of Loch Lubnaig. The views are outstanding and at times, you can hardly tell what is real and what is reflection. It’s also a bit like a mini roller coaster, great for cycling but not so good for travel-sick passengers in a car.
Shortly before reaching Strathyre, you pass the Immeroulin Caravan and Camping Park, which is where last year we had our very first trip away in Evie the Campervan. I’m writing a book on the first year of being a campervan owner and might call it “It takes a year to grow a new thumbnail” as I trapped my thumb in the van door that day and it’s still not fully recovered.
Arriving at the village of Strathyre, there’s a lovely new stretch of cycle track that leads onto my next port of call, Lochearnhead. I had a brief stop and a bit of chocolate as I checked the mileage for my next chunk. Easy-peasy I thought, just six miles to go. Breaking my journey up the miles were flying by easily, but it was always in the back of my mind that I couldn’t take things too easy as I need to reach Crianlarich before four o’clock.
The next stretch of the cycle track is great. It’s relatively flat, with just a couple of ups and downs. What makes it so special for me is how the scenery changes. Gone are the gentle farmlands as they give way to hills and mountains. The highlands really are calling to me now. I was looking forward to the views I’d get on the last stretch to Crianlarich once I’d reached Glen Ogle.
But I had to get to Glen Ogle first. The cycle track continues from Lochearnhead to Glen Ogle and Lochan Lairig Cheile, with a mere four miles to go. But this section certainly isn’t flat. Leaving Lochearnhead the cycle track takes an immediate hike up a series of tight S-bends. Given that I was tired, I had a little walk (or hike) up this ridiculously steep, narrow path with its twists and turns. It gave me a chance to take in the rapidly appearing view of Loch Earn as I quickly gained height. Mountains were appearing in all directions.
Fortunately, this stretch only goes on for half a mile or so before normality is restored. What follows is an amazing three miles cycling up the old railway line. From the main road across the valley, car drivers miss out on the scenery as they concentrate (hopefully) on keeping their vehicle on the road going up the hill. If they dare take a glance over to their left, they’d see the fantastic viaduct looking something not dissimilar to a scene out of a Harry Potter movie. I was now cycling on that viaduct.
You’d imagine that climbing up the hill to the top of Glen Ogle would be a tough challenge, but it’s really not, honestly. It’s one of those hills you don’t know which gear to use. It’s not flat, hardly seems uphill, but you know you are going uphill. A couple of gates break the cycle as you need to open these. You could risk cycling over the cattle grids, but I’ve seen too many mishaps with cyclists and cattle grids, so never even considered it. It's quite an amazing experience cycling up the track as you enjoy the peace, but looking across the valley to your right you can see (and hear) the traffic trundling up and down the A84.
I was feeling quite chuffed with myself. I knew I was making good time and could have a quick break at the top before the final twelve mile stretch to Crianlarich, allowing me to make the train in perfect timing by my calculations. As you reach the top, you can see the track change slightly and a sign warns that there’s vehicle traffic ahead as you will join the main road again.
Thud, thud, thud.
Any cyclists reading this will probably sigh in sympathy with me at this point.
Thud, thud, thud.
I didn’t even need to look down at my tyre to know I had a puncture. And, of course, it had to be the back wheel. Walking the last few yards to the fence at the top of the track before it re-joins the main road, I have to admit to saying a few swear words to myself.
Punctures and basic repairs don’t bother me, but I was cross with myself that I’d not cleaned my bike before setting out today. Oh well!
So, bike upside down and back wheel out, I set about taking the inner tube out of the tyre. Pumping it up again once out of the tyre, I could look to see where the tube was damaged. Yep, there was a tiny hole. Identifying the position of the hole in the inner tube allows you to find any damage to the tyre in the same position. You might find a bit of glass or a thorn in the tyre. But no, nothing was visible today. I ran my fingers all the way round the inside of the tyre and checked the outside too. I also checked the rim of the wheel to make sure nothing was there, including perhaps a spoke head poking through. Nothing. Sometimes you never find the cause of a puncture.
Of course, being the ever-prepared girl I am, I carry both spare inner tubes and a puncture repair kit. It’s much easier to just have an inner tube you can use and repair the damaged one when you get home, especially in cold, wet weather.
Spare inner tube in and tyre pumped up. Only to go down again. No! More X-rated words. I was by now also conscious that the spare time I had to get to the station on time was running away as fast as the air from my tyre.
I huffed and puffed and had another piece of dairy milk. By now, I had oily hands and was getting chilly. I phoned Mr M to let him know what was happening.
“You’ll be fine. A puncture is no problem for you,” he said.
I had a bit of a rant and discussed with him the merits of obviously carrying around old inner tubes that were as much use as chocolate fireguards. I told him I’d try once more and see what happened and also what time I had left.
By now, several people had passed me and commiserated with me about the fact that it’s always the back wheel. I assured them that everything was in hand and I was fine.
Third inner tube pumped up, but I couldn’t seem to get enough pressure into it. Maybe I was just rushing. Maybe I was tired. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. There was one simple fact. I knew I wouldn’t be in time for the train at Crianlarich now. Should I just try again and then wait for the next train three hours later? But my bike reservation was for the 15.53. There was no guarantee there would be room on the next train for my bike.
So, I did the only thing I could think of. I phoned Mr M and told him of my dilemma.
“Shall I come and pick you up?”.
Relief that I now didn’t need to worry about either my tyre or the train, I got out my spare jacket and my waterproof jacket, along with woollen gloves and hat. It was a fine day, but don’t forget I was now at the top of Glen Ogle with a chilly wind blowing.
My other disappointment was that I hadn’t quite got to the very top of Glen Ogle to have the view I knew was waiting for me of Munro after Munro. Next time!
Knowing it would take Mr M the best part of an hour and a half, I did the only sensible thing and found a comfy spot to finish my picnic and flask of tea. I might be disappointed not to finish my planned route, but I would not be cold, hungry, or thirsty.
Before I knew it, the magnificent Mr M was appearing up the hill in our car. My very own knight in shining armour (well, a red car). Before too long, we had my bike in the back of the car and I was settled in the passenger seat with strict instructions from Mr M that I had not to touch anything with my oil covered hands.
A couple of hours later, I was home, showered, and Mr M was cooking tea for me. I know. Spoiled.
As we were sitting relaxing later, Mr M calmly said, “No doubt you’ll be doing this route again next week”.
He knows me too well.
Just short of fifty miles today though, so not too bad after all for a failed adventure.
So out of the house by 8.45 am, I was on my way with one jacket less and no gloves on (though they were keeping guard of my egg inside my saddle bag just in case). Spring, perhaps even a hint of summer, really is just around the corner.
Taking the same route as last week through Milton of Campsie and Lennoxtown, the lovely host of daffodils dancing in the wind from last week were now not so much dancing, more gently swaying with their heads bowed down, their short full bloom almost at an end. They’ll be back next year though that’s for sure.
Cycling on towards Strathblane, the new-born lambs from last week were now all jumping around the hills. Sheep who last week seemed to be standing looking over the fences at me with pride showing me their new-born lambs were now, I’m sure, shouting to these same lambs, “Come away from the human.”
Flying on (yes it was a tailwind) through Strathblane, Blanefield and towards Glengoyne, I was reflecting how quickly my cycling was changing. One-minute places like Aberfoyle were my target, the next they were mere points on-route to further goals. Today Aberfoyle was just a stopping off point to rest and snack before tacking Duke’s Pass.
The roads stayed very quiet and the main A81 had the feel of a quiet country road. Passing once again by the Trossachs Holiday Park, I knew that a few more miles down the road and I’d be in Aberfoyle. At the new roundabout where I took a right to Port of Menteith last week, this week I passed the Rob Roy Hotel and followed the road to the left, indicating Aberfoyle was just a mile away.
Now this is Rob Roy MacGregor country, the Scottish Outlaw who became a folk hero, a bit of a Scottish Robin Hood, robbing from the rich to feed the poor. Interestingly, he was given the name Roy (originally Ruadh), because of his startling red head of hair. He was really running a bit of a protection racket, getting people to pay 5% of their rent to ensure their cattle remained safe. I’m not quite sure how this villain became a folk hero as all I found out was that he decided he was getting too long in the tooth for the wild life and, after being imprisoned then pardoned in 1727 by King George 1 (and saved from being sent to Barbados) spent the rest of his days as a law-abiding character. But the poet William Wordsworth obviously saw him as an interesting character as he wrote a poem called Rob Roy’s Grave during one of his visits to Scotland. Maybe that’s another poem for Mr M to learn.
Arriving at Aberfoyle, I soon found myself a seat in the large carpark behind the visitor’s centre and by the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. Aberfoyle is a real tourist trap and I’ll bet later in the day there would be no benches to be had. Sitting a while, I had half my buttie, a cup of tea and some of my now crushed and broken Easter egg as I contemplated the wisdom of my plan to tackle Duke’s Pass.
Duke’s Pass was built in 1855 by the Duke of Montrose because he wanted to be able to get around his estate more easily. It’s an impressive road, climbing to a height of 240 metres above sea level and gives breath-taking views over the Trossachs between Aberfoyle and Callander.
It’s possible to follow the Sustrans’ route 7 cycle track all the way from Aberfoyle to Callander but it involves some rough riding and is not suitable in places for narrow road tyres. Personally, I don’t find this cycle route as impressive as Duke’s Pass either as it runs alongside the lochs for much of the way rather than cycling the heights above and looking down on the lochs and views beyond. For this reason, I was choosing to cycle the main road from Aberfoyle to Callander.
I was feeling strangely nervous and a knot in my stomach told me that perhaps I wasn’t quite ready for the duke. I sent a WhatsApp message to Mr M (because I now know how to and he now knows how to open them) telling him of my nerves, but his reply was brief,
“Go for it!”
He clearly was not sitting at home at the end of his phone waiting for the call to rescue me! It was time and there was nothing to worry about.
As you leave Aberfoyle the first road to the left leads to Stronachlachar and Kinlochard, but this is for another adventure. My route today sweeps round to the right and immediately starts to climb. Leaving Aberfoyle behind the road twists around and up the hill towards the David Marshall Lodge Visitors Centre where you can park your car and admire the amazing views opening out. I believe there is also a nice café there and a Go Ape for those who want to swing from the heavens.
I was soon passing a sign warning that the road beyond doesn’t get gritted in winter which I felt was just a little tease reminding me that the climb is still to come. But, in my bottom gear, I took my time, sometimes out of the saddle, but often sitting down. Sweeping bends, sharp bends and a bit tough in places, but the climb was a dream. I was warm, felt fairly fit and never once thought I’d have to get off and walk. I did stop to take a couple of photos to share with you so you could get a feel of the vista I had.
Rides like this are why I cycle. Tough but not impossibly tough, climbing high into the hills and seeing mountains in the distance. Before I knew it, I’d reached the sign for Duke’s Pass realising, almost giggling, that I had indeed conquered the duke.
What follows is a long, fast, easy descent, passing views of the three lochs along that stretch of the Trossachs, Lochan Reoidhe, Loch Drunkie and Loch Achray. Once down at the bottom you coast on by a house that appears out of nowhere and you know that the descent is over. The road narrows a little, taking you past the turn for Loch Katrine, made famous by Walter Scott’s poem, the Lady of the Loch. Precious memories were made here when Mr M and I took John out on the boat here. Being a chief engineer in the merchant navy all his working life, John was like a kiddie in a sweet shop when we arrange for him to go down in the engine room. His face said it all.
Now the road starts to undulate, nothing too severe, although there are couple of sneaky killers as you approach then leave Brig o’Turk. It’s ironic that when I was struggling up Duke’s Pass if there were points when drivers had to wait a minute or two to pass me, I could almost hear them crying out, “Come on lass, dig in, you can do it,” as they waited patiently. But once over the hill with no effort being seen, drivers became impatient to pass, trying their hand at overtaking on blind bends, blind summits and other ridiculous places despite me stopping whenever possible to pull in and let drivers pass me safely.
Now compared to the road from Brig o’Turk to Callander, Duke’s Pass is a breeze. The road from here to Callander is probably only seven miles but it’s a tough road. It should be an easy cycle but today there seem to be more ups than downs and my energy levels were starting to fade a little. I’d decided away back in Aberfoyle that my main stop would be in Callander so pressed on (into the headwind), passed Loch Venachar and Ben A’an.
Reaching the T junction with the main A84 and the Trossachs Woollen Mill where Hamish the Highland Cow resides, there is access to the Sustrans’ route 7 for the last couple of miles to Callander, which I took. What a joy this stretch of track is. Quiet, flat and through gentle countryside. Of course, in a month or so, this whole area will be painted a beautiful blue/purple colour by Mother Nature when she spreads bluebells as far as the eye can see. I was of course, also feeling like my batteries had run out and my legs were starting to feel a bit like socks of custard. Callander couldn’t come soon enough for me.
Callander and Aberfoyle to me could be twins. Both by water and both tourist traps, but still lovely with it. Today Callander was blessed with the clear view of Ben Ledi, the mountain that Beatrix and I have had so many adventures. If you’ve not seen it, watch this little video, Beauty and the Beast . Just one girl and her dog in the amazing calmness that deep, fresh snow brings. Make sure you watch to the very end of the video to experience the real silence.
Today Callander was heaving with tourists. It was strange to see so many people milling about but even more strange to see them milling about around the mobile Covid testing unit by the water. Never in a million years would you have dreamed in a little village in the heart of rural Scotland would there be the need for a vaccination centre for a pandemic! Strange world indeed.
I was lucky and found myself a vacant bench to sit a while and enjoy the rest of my picnic and recharge my batteries for the last twenty miles to Dunblane train station. Just as I’d opened my picnic a lovely couple asked if they could share my bench. As we got chatting, we laughed when I asked where they were from and they told me Bristol. Their accent was a close to being English as mine is to being Scottish. It turns out they are originally from the Czech Republic. We spent the next half hour discussing different Easter traditions, including Wet Monday when everyone splashes water over each other. Of course, we also shared our concerns and worries over the happenings in Russia and Ukraine. Covid 19 and fear of World War 3 in Callander on a sunny Easter Sunday. Who would have thought it possible?
Soon they had to re-join their coach and continue their highland tour and I had to pack up and get myself back on the road.
The road from Callander to Doune is mostly flat with just a couple of rises, but it’s a busy road and today I had a strong head wind too. The road is wide, open and straight for much of the way, which is great with a tailwind, but a nightmare with a headwind. So, as we cyclists say, I put my head down and bum up and peddled my heart out to reach Doune much faster than I had thought possible and felt quite chuffed with myself.
It was lovely to turn off the busy A84 for the last few miles to Dunblane but by now I really was tired. Initially I was trying to cycle as fast as I could to try to make sure I got to the train station as quickly as I could. But I gave myself a talking to and reminded myself that if I missed a train there would be another an hour later so why spoil a lovely day out by trying to overdo it. Mind you, even taking it easy, those last few miles were tough going for a worn out still trying to get fit cyclist.
Reaching Dunblane, I cycled over the railway bridge and reached the platform with only minutes to spare before a train that seemed to be waiting for me pulled out of the station. If indeed that train driver did take pity on a clearly shattered cyclist trying her best to race over the bridge to catch his train and waited for me, thank you.
Now I could relax a little, have a short train journey to Stirling before catching the train to my final station at Lenzie. Before I knew it, I was back home, showered and tea was being served by the lovely Mr M.
I’ve certainly raised the miles today and now I’m showered, fed and watered; I feel quite pleased with myself. Duke’s Pass was smashed and I covered roughly fifty-five miles. Not bad, not bad at all. I wonder where I’ll go next time.
As I mentioned in my last blog, I am working on my podcast and these Aim for the Impossible blogs will be top priority to record so you can listen to my tales and adventures as well as read them. I'll let you know once these are available.
I was now surrounded by lovely views. To my right I could see the back of the Campsie Fells and to my left, the tips of the Arrochar Alps, including The Cobbler (Ben Arthur). Ben Lomond is of course there to watch over you on most of this stretch of road.
It’s a fairly leisurely ride, with just a few hills or rises, but nothing very strenuous. On roads like this, the miles just seem to fly by and before too long I was passing the junction for Balfron Station I spoke about in Episode 2, with a sign showing Aberfoyle was a mere nine miles down the road.
Past Gartmore, the road turns into something not dissimilar to Route 66 in America. This road just seems to stretch out in front of you neither up nor down, with not a bend to be seen. I did ponder calling for a coffee at the lovely Trossachs Holiday Park where we’ve stayed a few times in Evie our campervan but decided against it as I knew I’d get settled in the café talking to Clare who makes sure all the visitors to the park feel like the most important person there. Time would drift by and I’d be cycling the rest of the way in the dark!
So, I carried on past the park and very soon there’s a bit of a sweeping hill which tests your thighs a little, but it’s not very long so by the time you’ve realised your legs are hurting, it’s over and you have a lovely bit of gentle descent opening out in front of you again.
Nearing Aberfoyle there’s a new little roundabout next to the Rob Roy Hotel. It’s only a mile down the road from here to Aberfoyle but today I took a right at the roundabout towards Callander. The route from here to Thornhill is a wonderful cycle. There are no hills at all to shout about, a few little rises, but only enough to give your bottom a rest from the saddle.
The first village on-route is the Port of Menteith, alongside the Lake of Menteith. This is the only Lake in Scotland and as I cycled enjoying the tranquil setting, watching fisherman on the lake, I planned to do some research so that I could share my fabulous knowledge with you as to why this is a lake and not a loch. Sadly, the best explanation I could find was that it used to be called Loch of Menteith but when the Ordnance Survey people set about recording the area, a mistake was made and it became Lake of Menteith.
Talking about names for stretches of water. Do you know that in the Lake District in Cumbria, there is really on one Lake, Lake Bassenthwaite?
“Wait,” I hear you cry. “There are loads of lakes in the Lake District. After all, that’s why it’s called the Lake District isn’t it?”
In truth, there are sixteen stretches of water in the Lake District but all, except for Lake Bassenthwaite are waters or meres. That’s right, it’s not Lake Windermere, it’s just Windermere! Of course, you’ve probably heard me talk about my favourite place in the Lake District, Grasmere, which is the village alongside Grasmere, Rydal Water and Elterwater and where William Wordsworth found so much of his inspiration for his poetry and writings in the years he lived in Dove Cottage, then Allan Bank with his sister Dorothy and then with his wife and children.
Passing through the Port of Monteith I was able to enjoy a wonderful, easy cycle to Thornhill, passing Flanders Moss, which is now a national nature reserve and the largest raised bog in Europe still to remain in its almost near natural state. It is also a winter-feeding ground for thousands of pink-footed geese but alas I saw none today. There was lots of rapeseed beginning to show with its lovely yellow flower, but there was not much smell from it today. Early days, I guess.
Reaching Thornhill, my planned lunch stop, I was relieved to see the village bench was vacant. I’m not sure what I’d have done if it had been occupied. Coughing, spluttering, huffing and sighing were all things I’d planned, but they were not needed.
Picnic, flask and blanket out I was soon enjoying my well-earned lunch. My star treat today was a large piece of Charlotte’s Fab slice. Just the thing – packed with nuts, seeds, oats and cherries, with a drizzle of chocolate just for good measure.
I’d made good time so allowed myself just short of an hour to relax, enjoy my lunch and take in the peace and quiet. Thornhill really is a lovely little village with the main street being a long narrow road with pretty houses either side.
Of interest to me though was which way to go now. I had two options. First option was to follow the signs for Stirling joining the main A84 and catch the train home from Stirling station. I know this road well and although it’s an easy enough ride, for some reason it’s a cycle I never particularly relish. Maybe it’s because many times I’ve had to fight into a strong headwind or maybe just because it’s a busy route with tourists desperate to speed past on their way to and from Callander. My other option was to follow the signs for Doune then head over to Dunblane for the train. Distance wise, this would be about three miles shorter, but on unknown roads, which, as I said in my last episode, are always special. I knew there couldn’t be too many hills as there are no mountains between Thornhill and Dunblane. Checking the train times now that I have progressed in technology to have the National Rail app on my phone, I could see the trains from Dunblane ran every hour.
I set off again, still pondering. Coasting along the road, I noticed two cyclists in front of me take the Doune road. Decision made. Dunblane Station it would be.
Leaving the A873 to join to the B826 towards Doune there was an initial steep section and I wondered if I’d made the right decision. But, with only five miles to go to Doune, I thought what the heck! But the hill Gods were on my side today as the rest of the ride through gentle countryside was a breeze.
Very soon, I met the main A84 and, taking a left at the T-junction, I took the road up the hill through Doune before swinging a right at the next junction to join the road to Dunblane and the Red Kite Viewing Station. And there it was, once again I was cycling on an unknown road along the A820. Now this road really should have been an easy cycle with no major hills, but my energy had disappeared as I approached Doune. So, I took my time and had a slow cycle to Dunblane where I eventually found the train station.
The train journey to Stirling was uneventful and I almost had the whole train to myself. The next train from Stirling to Lenzie was equally smooth and before I knew it, I was cycling the last few miles back home to Kirkintilloch.
Overall, a fabulous day with my mileage starting to creep up with today being in the region of forty-five miles.
I’m even thinking that next week I’ll have a stab at Duke’s Pass from Aberfoyle to Callander. Mr M has already kindly said that I should give it a go and if he needs to come and pick me up in the car he will do. There he is again, already encouraging me to go out for the day again before I’ve even recovered from today!
Another bit of progress is that I’m now getting my own podcast, Mother Murphy’s Life Bites, up and running. Hopefully over the coming weeks you’ll be able to choose whether you read my blogs or listen to them on my podcast, or both of course.
The journey to Gleneagles only takes forty minutes, passing through Stirling on its way with the Castle and Wallace Monument standing guard. Leaving Stirling, the scenery really begins to change as the train goes through the lush countryside of Bridge of Allan and Dunblane, before arriving at Gleneagles Station. Despite being such a well-known place because of the golf (apparently 3 golf courses make this a golfer’s paradise), Gleneagles Station is a little bit like a scene out of a tumbleweed film. If I’d seen a horse and cart waiting at the station, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
Off the train and mask removed, I set off down the path to leave the station. Now it’s a while since I’ve been to this neck of the woods and the roads looked very unfamiliar but I had my ordnance survey map and cycle route guide with me so I’d be fine.
After cycling up the hill from the station I was almost upon the M9. Maybe I should have left the station in the other direction I thought to myself. Back down to the station I cycled, conscious of the signs warning of CCTV cameras and the possibility I was now being laughed at and followed the cycle track that also led to the M9 and Auchterarder. Cycle route guide out I re-read the directions, “Follow the access road to the A9 and turn left onto a footpath”. I realised that my first instinct was correct so back up the hill I cycled (even more conscious of the CCTV cameras) and found the road I was looking for.
Immediately as you join the quiet A832 you get a feeling that the hills are surrounding you. The traffic of the M9 can be heard, but you know you’re heading for better things.
A mere half a mile later, I turned left onto an even quieter road, towards the Duchally Estate. Now this road is just glorious. Initially there’s a little steep section, but nothing too alarming. It’s a single-track road and the only company I had was the peace, the birds, the lambs and sheep and the sound of the stream running its way down the valley. The gradient was soon mostly in my favour and there was a roaring tailwind building, giving me more than a gentle helping hand. I was mightily grateful in the knowledge I could enjoy this helping hand by the wind Gods as I cycled, almost gliding along the nine miles to Dunning with the knowledge that I wouldn’t be cycling along this road into the headwind on my return journey. Feeling the calmness around me, I took my time over this section, knowing I had a long, steep hilly section to come.
Arriving at the little hamlet of Dunning, the church and monument were looking magnificent in the sunshine today. Looking around at the little crossroad signs – Perth, a little unmarked road, and Yetts O’Muckhart (which shares it’s sign with Simon Howie the Butchers), I chose to take the unmarked road out of Dunning.
I’m sure there was a very good reason I chose this road rather than the road marked Yetts of O’Muckhart when that’s where I was planning to go, but it seems to have slipped my mind. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the tail wind. Maybe it was the blissful surroundings I was cycling through. Or maybe it was just because I did.
Now this road is definitely a single-track road with a couple of signs as I left the safety of Dunning indicating sharp S-bends and a bit of a gradient. I’d cycled up this road before (or so I thought) and these signs did look familiar. There were some new signs telling drivers this was a walking and cycling friendly road, which made me smile.
The road very quickly leaves Dunning and the valley below as it climbs, increasingly steeper. I engaged my bottom gear and prepared to take it steady but was sure I’d manage the hill. After all, I’d done it before.
It seemed every 100 yards or so there were the signs reminding me this was a walking and cycling friendly road. Well, it wasn’t feeling very cycling friendly to me I can tell you. My guidebook, which of course I’d read numerous times before setting out, reminded me to stop on the way up the hill and look back to see the whole of Strathearn below in the valley. So, I stopped and the views really were impressive. Munro mountains were making a fabulous panoramic view, with Schiehallion taking centre stage today, but Ben Lomond could also be clearly seen. The tops of the mountains were still covered in snow and a little bit of me envied the views I knew walkers would have on the high summits today.
Once I’d stopped, the gradient was too steep for me to get going again so I decided that perhaps the road would be walking friendly as it clearly was not cycling friendly. Pushing my bike is always a bit of an embarrassment for me and I was pleased that if anyone did see me, they wouldn’t know me so there would be no need for me to hang my head in shame.
By now, I was roasting and regretting putting my thermals on. As I struggled my way, yes it was steep just pushing my bike up around the S-bend, I was taken by the brightness of the yellow gorse with its amazing smell. You don’t notice this in a vehicle with the windows closed, but it’s almost like cycling (or walking) past bars of Battenberg cakes. I can tell you that I don’t know who created those road signs, but this road is neither cycling nor walking friendly if you ask me.
Once around the S-bend the gradient began to ease enough for me to jump back on my bike. It was still a bit thigh stretching and calf popping stuff but the views over to the left were still amazing.
What was even more amazing to me was that the views were still visible to my left. My inbuilt navigation system, which I know can be a bit temperamental at times, was telling me that the views should now be behind me. But on my left they most definitely were.
Now there is a saying, “Not all those who wander are lost”. That could be used to describe my situation today. I knew I wasn’t on the road I’d planned but I did have an ordnance survey map with me and a vague knowledge of the area. I made the decision that this road, albeit the wrong road, was such a dream to cycle on, I’d stick with it and see where it took me.
The road was now undulating but with the tail wind still with me, I was able to coast along and momentum took me up most of the hills without too much effort being required. There were a few scary downhill sections and I realised that I’m becoming a little timid in my old age and could no longer be described as a downhill speed merchant. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was but I knew I wasn’t heading towards Yetts O’Muckhart. The little road I was on had lots of other tiny roads leading from it with strange names I’d never head of, so I decided I’d go with the flow, enjoy the feeling of cycling on the tops of the hills, feel the tail wind behind me and eventually I’d drop down from the tops and join a main road somewhere. I was still feeling strong and had my picnic lunch still to eat. Life is good sometimes when you just let it be.
I whizzed and puffed my way up and down this road for a good few miles, passing farms, more gorse, posh houses and even posher houses before finally reaching the end of the road at a T-junction with a main road. I still didn’t recognise many of the names. I’d hoped for a Stirling, Alloa or even a Dollar sign, so stopped, propped my bike against a fence and was just about to dig out my map when another cyclist came whizzing down the road I’d just cycled down.
The very unsatisfying conversation went something like this. “Which way would take me to Dollar?”. “Oh, you don’t want to go there. There’s nothing there”.
I told him of my plans and how I’d intended to work my way to Stirling Station. After some discussion and his eventual realisation that I wasn’t just some totally helpless girl (granted I had asked him for directions), he suggested a couple of options, including heading back up to Dunning and then to Perth Station.
I thanked him for his suggestions and let him go on his way whilst I continued to pull out my map and make my own plan.
My new plan was to cycle towards Dunning, probably 8 miles or so, then re-trace my route from Dunning back to Gleneagles Station. With the knowledge there was a bench at Dunning where I could stop and have my picnic, I set off again.
There is something quite special about cycling roads you don’t know. You have no idea of the road and therefore no worries about any hills you have to cycle. I remember many years ago in my cycling club days in Halifax, the routes we had varied in start and finish points each week so that the same people were not always the ones who had a climb to the start of the run or a climb at the end of the run. When I lived in Northowram, high above the picturesque Shibden Valley, I was always pleased when the rides were out to the Yorkshire Dales as I had less of a climb to the start and also less of climb to get home. Rides out through the Calder Valley and beyond were different. I did have a fairly easy ride to the start of the runs at King Cross, but the ride home was a nightmare. Already tired, the hill up to Halifax, known as Salterhebble, always seemed to take the last bit of energy I had and there was still the long climb up to Northowram to tackle.
I was bemoaning my tiredness and hatred of Salterhebble to one of my fellow club riders who pointed out that if we came across a hill like Salterhebble on our route we would just romp our way up before we had time to worry about it and it was only a mountain in my eyes because I had allowed it to become a mountain.
And that is very true. Along this unknown road today I had no worries. I just cycled and enjoyed the ride. A little while later I could see the buildings of a hamlet in the distance with a sign indicating Dunning was 3 miles away.
Arriving at Dunning I was starting to feel a little weary as I’d not had a rest at all. Finding the bench at the memorial empty, I pulled out my picnic mat, flask and butties and also thought I’d better check the times for the trains at Gleneagles. Being a Sunday I discovered there was a 2-hour gap between trains so I really needed to catch the 15.00 train or I’d have a long wait for the 17.00 one. Despite needing a rest, I had a quick cup of tea and my butties before setting of to cycle back up the road from this morning to Gleneagles Station.
You remember this road I told you about earlier that rolled along and I’d been accompanied by a lovely tailwind. Well, the wind Gods were getting their own back now. Not only was the road back to Gleneagles most uphill, but it was also an open road with no protection from the elements. That lovely helping tailwind was now a roaring headwind making the return journey the toughest part of the day. Even the stretches that should have been easy as they were flat or downhill were tough as I still had to put effort in to push the pedals around. It felt like I was cycling into a wind tunnel. It wasn’t helped by the cyclists coming the other way freewheeling with their tailwind sporting grins from ear to ear.
The views however were still great and somehow made the journey less of an endurance test. I knew that I had just short of 9 miles to cycle back to Gleneagles so it wasn’t a marathon, but boy were those 9 miles tough.
Finally, I could see the station in the valley to my right and soon I was freewheeling back down the hill to the station in plenty time for the 15.00 train.
Gleneagles Station is a wild and cold station one the best of days and today it was absolutely Baltic. The wind was howling and it was starting to rain. Hurray for a heated waiting room. This station has won different awards for being renovated to such a high standard. It’s just a pity that these renovations didn’t include a toilet. Perhaps that’s why the whole area is surrounded by CCTV cameras so that people caught short in their two hour wait for a train in the wind and rain don’t try to find their own spot in nature!
A short delay for the train added to desperation for the toilet due to a tree falling on the track somewhere up the line towards Dundee. But the train did eventually arrive, although it was standing room only. I think Scotrail need to realise that Sundays are a day when people can get out and about so running a limited a service is not always the best thing to do for their customers. Before too long though, I was in Stirling station waiting for my next train to Lenzie. Thankfully there was plenty time for me to visit the facilities at the station. I didn’t have a lock for my bike but a kind man said he’d look after it for me. To be honest, by this time if somebody had walked off with my bike I may not have been overly concerned.
The train journey to Lenzie was uneventful and soon I was cycling my way back home. Showered and in clean pyjamas, I was soon tucking into my tea made by the lovely Mr M.
Now I’ve had chance to examine the maps, I can now see where my journey today took me and I’ve calculated it was something in the region of 35 miles. Not so many miles really when I need to be doing something in the region of 80-100 in a day for my Aim for the Impossible cycle to Halifax. It’s early days yet though and as the saying goes, Rome was not built in a day.
Where will my next cycle take me I wonder.
Sustrans is a UK charity for sustainable transport with their aim to create projects that enable people to choose to travel in ways to benefit both health and the environment. This includes creating the National Cycle Network, involving cycle routes I’ve had the pleasure of using on various occasions on my cycles across Scotland. The routes try to follow dedicated cycle paths, quiet and minor roads and are very clearly signposted by the distinctive blue signs indicating the route number and direction.
There is an epic Route 7 that takes you all the way from Carlisle right up to Inverness, with the majority of the route following a dedicated cycle way or very minor roads. This Route 7 passes not a million miles from us at Kirkintilloch on its journey from Glasgow to Aberfoyle, talking in Balloch and Drymen. I wondered if I could do a bit of a trip around the Campsie fells, out to Drymen where I could the pickup the Route 7 to then head back the way to Balloch, before taking the relaxing, trundling train to Glasgow. With my maps and computer, I set myself a route that would be very similar in miles to last week’s route along Loch Lomond, but with a couple of big hills to test my legs.
Saturday morning arrived, but not so early as last week as I didn’t need to catch an early train, only needing the assistance of train travel for my journey home. Mr M, as always, made my porridge and added a piece of toast with homemade raspberry jam to my breakfast today because, in his words, I deserve it. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled, I know! Butties, flask of tea and extra provisions packed, I was ready.
Today was a day of firsts as it was my first trip out this year without my trusty thermal long-johns. Would it be a mistake or would, as I hoped, the sun break through the clouds to give another hot, sunny day. Another first was that there was no spare jacket but I always have my waterproof jacket as a standby should I get cold. I had my hands cuddled into my woolly gloves though as there was a definite nip to the air and it can be cold going over the hills first thing in the morning.
Just after 9 am I left home and headed out of Kirkintilloch, passing over the canal bridge, then taking the road out towards Milton of Campsie. Already the sun had started to wake up and I wondered how long I’d be able to stand my gloves. This road out to Milton of Campsie and then Lennoxtown gives a gentle start to the cycle, with just a couple of rises to get your legs warmed up with a bit of out of saddle riding. The gloves of course, came off as I cycled along this road in the sunshine.
When I’m out cycling, hilly routes are more pleasurable than flat, canal paths. On a flat route you barely need to get out of the saddle which on a long ride can easily result in some severe saddle sores. Trust me, this is not pleasant. Even with well-padded shorts, it’s taken a little while for me to re-shape my bottom to fit my saddle again. With hilly rides you can get up out of the saddle giving your bits and pieces a rest. So now you know, if you pass a cyclist who looks to be wiggling their bum at you, they’re probably just getting a bit of relief from their saddle.
Once through Lennoxtown, you take a right, following the sign for Campsie Fells. This is a bit of a challenge with a steep S-bend as you pass the Campsie golf club. It’s certainly bottom gear and out of the saddle for this section. I was hoping there’d be no cars behind me at this point because the road is too wiggly for them to safely pass you so you feel you have to try that bit harder to get around the S-bend a little faster. Going around the S-bend a little faster is not really within my capabilities at the moment!
Thankfully, there were no cars, but several other cyclists who were obviously far fitter than myself and not carrying all the extra weight I am. There was a moment when I felt very disheartened remembering the times it would have been me passing slow moving cyclists. But I gave myself a talking to, reminding myself that I’m now in a different phase of my life and would never really be the fit svelte-like cyclist I used to be but I will soon be fit enough once more to enjoy my cycling rather than struggling along a ride.
After the S-bend, the gradient eases and it’s a steady climb as you work your way up the Crow Road to the Carpark in the Sky at Campsie Glen above Clachan of Campsie. The views start to open up now as you look down on Lennoxtown and Clachan of Campsie on your left with the Campsie Fells building on your right.
It was certainly a good move taking the woolly gloves off earlier as already the sun was shining down on me and my bare hands were getting sweaty on the handlebars, to say nothing of the sweat now starting to roll down the back of my neck! All the way up I enjoyed the sound of the birds signing and the sheep with their new lambs enjoying the morning sunshine.
It’s one of those things about the hills you cycle, no matter how often you cycle them, they never seem to get any easier, you just get quicker climbing them. Today was a sign that my fitness is slowly but surely starting to make a re-appearance because I found the climb to my first stop at the car park very tough but realised I’d cycled up the hill much quicker than a couple of weeks ago. A sign that my road to fitness still has a long way to go is that I did find myself needing a well-earned rest to sit on the wall at the carpark. My next aim will be to get up that section without a rest at the carpark.
This is the carpark where the hike up over the Campsie fells begins. As I sat there eating a banana and having a drink of my juice, I smiled to myself looking up the hill remembering all my many different hikes up there in many equally different weather conditions. Relaxing in the sunshine and the calmness today, it was difficult to imagine the times up there when I found myself thigh-high in snow.
Setting off again I think this next mile or so is as hard as the S-bend at the bottom of the hill. In a car, it doesn’t look much of gradients at all, but believe me, it’s tough going until you reach the top of this section when road levels out and you’re able to do your first bit of freewheeling. To your right you get the splendid view of the path leading down from the hills that you’d follow doing a circular walk over the Campsie Fells. Many times, I’ve sat at the top of that hill looking down at the road wishing I had a bike at the bottom to get myself back to the carpark rather than the long mile or so walk down that same road I’d just struggled up on my bike today.
Now the ride takes on a different feel. The views are impressive, looking out towards the hill of Meikle Bin and towards the Carron Valley. Passing a sign indicating you’re leaving East Dunbartonshire and entering Stirlingshire, you get a feeling that civilisation is being left behind, despite only having cycled a few miles from home.
Before you know it, you’re fastening up your jacket ready for the long descent to Fintry. Of course, years ago before all this fancy Gortex cycling gear we have now, we used to carry old newspapers in our back pockets to put down the front of our jerseys on a long descent and put plastic bags over our socks in our shoes because overshoes had not yet been invented.
It’s a long descent with long straight sections mixed with a few wiggly windy bits, all equally hair-raising as you try to avoid hitting the biggest of the potholes at speed, whilst trying to see out of eyes that are now watering with the chilly wind blowing at you. No matter what the weather, there always seems to be a wind blowing as you descend into the valley below on this road.
My favourite part of the descent has to be as you round one of the bends and there in front of you, weather permitting, is the amazing view of the Trossachs spreading out before you, Ben Lomond taking centre stage. Today only the very tips of the mountains were snow covered. Who needs to travel abroad when you have views like this upon your doorstep?
The road now levels for a while, give or take a couple of short rises, taking you through the pretty village of Fintry. Mr M and I have often stopped here and rested awhile on a bench next to the red post box, admiring the potted flowers dotted around as we refuel with a cuppa and a buttie. How amazing it was when on a cycle tour away up the North of Scotland Mr M and I were chatting to lady who said she though we looked familiar. For one reason or another, we were telling her about our trips around Fintry and how we were so impressed with the tidy bench and flowers. Low and behold, was this not the lady who tended that bench and those flowers. Small world indeed.
A couple of weeks ago on one of my cycle rides I was a little worried when I saw the road out of Fintry was closed and a detour in place taking you around through Balfron. Today I had actually planned to take this little road as my chosen route. It’s a great little detour with very little traffic and with a little rise at the start, gives you some lovely views of the valley below. Today I stopped to look at the sheep tending their young lambs who were already jumping about telling us that spring really is here.
Once I’d reached Balfron, I had a chat with a friendly couple packing their car for their holidays. I knew I could take a further detour up to Balfron Station before joining the main A81 towards Aberfoyle but just needed pointing in the right direction.
Sadly, Balfron Station is no longer a train station. At one time the railway line ran through Balfron Station coming from Balloch and then towards Stirling but closed in the 1950s. It must have been a wonderful sight to see in times gone by when, being about two miles from the actual village of Balfron, passengers and goods had to be transported by horse and cart to and from the station to the village. Balfron Station is now a hamlet on the site of the former station. How sad it is that all these wonderful railway lines are no more. Beeching still has a great deal to answer for in my eyes!
But with the expert directions of the lovely couple, I was soon whizzing my way through Balfron Station. They had warned me that it was a tricky T-junction with a right-hand turn to join the main A81, calling, “Watch out for the speeding cars”, as I cycled away from them. Fortunately, I was able to jump across the junction without too much trouble, thanks to the friendly car driver who saw me at the junction and slowed to let me out. It reminded me that, yes there are terrible drivers, just like there are irresponsible cyclists, but there are far more courteous drivers around.
Very soon I was able to leave the main A81 with a left-hand junction onto the A811 towards Drymen. Although this is not such a main road, it was busier than the A81 I’d just left, with some blind summits and yes, I was overtaken by cars a number of times on these blind summits. My heart was in my mouth on a couple of occasions!
I was feeling so fit today that I was already planning to sweet-talk the lovely Mr M to letting me cycle to the Trossachs Holiday park tomorrow with him driving Evie the Campervan and Beatrix the collie, and then allowing me to cycle home again on the Tuesday. That way, I’d be keeping my legs moving on the bike and getting extra miles in.
Arriving at the sleepy village of Drymen, I was pleased to see that the village green had an array of benches, all sitting in the sunshine waiting to be used by weary travellers. The village of Drymen sits right on the cycle Route 7 but is also one of the first stops for those walking the West Highland Way.
The West Highland Way is a 96-mile long-distance walking route from Milngavie to Fort William. The trail was opened in 1980 and was Scotland’s first official long-distance route and is, quite rightly, designated as one of Scotland’s Great Trails. When I think about the West Highland Way (that I have still to tackle one day) I’m always reminded of the lovely Gus, one of customers from the tearoom who was one of the first people to undertake this route and has himself been drafting a short book on his adventures on this trial. I’m looking forward to him publishing this and then perhaps I’ll tackle the trail with the knowledge I have Gus’s guidance with me on my walk.
Watching a couple of already weary-looking walkers plonk themselves on one of the benches, almost throwing their ridiculously large rucksacks on the ground my feet were hurting for them. Perhaps they were just getting into their walk and had yet to find their stride. By the time they’ve had a couple more days walking they’ll have tougher feet and may have ditched some unnecessary weight in their rucksack, a bit like Cheryl Strayed in the book and film, Wild.
I found myself my own bench, lay out my picnic blanket and pulled out my flask of tea, butties and treats. The route to Balloch from here is a mere nine miles so I was going to allow myself an hour for lunch, sitting in the sunshine and watching the world go by, as well as enjoying a piece of Ellie’s Apricot and Ginger Cake.
As I relaxed, I watched children and their parents flocking around a group of donkeys who’d been brought to the village green to enjoy the green grass for their lunch (the donkeys not the children!). It really was a pleasant sight reminiscent of a 1950’s summertime with village greens full of people, chatter and laughter. It was only spoiled a little when a lady shouted, “Enjoy it while it lasts. Snow is on its way next week.”
It was a reminder that it was still only March. I recall well my Scottish Grandma regularly saying, “Ne’er cast a clout ‘til May be out,” which could be simply translated as “don’t take off your winter clothing until the end of May.” Never a wiser word said!
It was great to see a village embracing the different people passing through for assorted reasons and providing free access to what could be a vital service for somebody in need. There was a water station for you to replenish your drink bottle and a station where you could pump up your tyres on your bike/pram/wheelchair. There was also a set of spanners and tools hanging there to be used, along with a place for you to re-charge your mobile phones.
Refuelled and rested, I cross the quiet road to pick up the Route 7 to head out to Balloch, with sign indicating it was a mere nine miles of a cycle. Just short of two miles out of Drymen, the cycle route leaves the road at a Sustrans statue and begins a wonderful stretch on a cycle way. I was a little surprised to see the sign showed it was still nine miles to Balloch!
Before too long I was alarmed when I saw in front of me a narrow looking bridge I needed to cross, with a sign warning cyclists to dismount. Can I just say here that there was no way I was even going to attempt to cycle across this scary looking bridge. I was pleasantly surprised and reassured once on the bridge that it was very solid and with high sides, there were no fear of me falling into the Endrick Water below me.
I stopped halfway across to watch the river rolling gently below me. I noticed how clear the water looked and was quite excited to see a giant fish swimming around. Whether it was a trout or salmon I’m not too sure, but I thought it would be nice to take a photo to show Mr M so he could feel part of my journey today and I also knew he’d be pleased to see that the fishing seasons was here and waiting for him. Fumbling about in my jacket to get my phone out, I could only watch in amazement as a large bird swept down and plucked the said fish from the water and disappeared into the distance with the fish in its beak. I’ve heard of anglers saying, “It was that big,” about the fish that got away, but never thought I’d see the day when I had to say this about the fish I never got chance to get a photo of.
Actually, I have on numerous occasions been heard to say, “It was that big,” when describing the giant spiders that have trapped me in different rooms when there has been nobody to rescue me. Arachnophobia is no laughing matter I can tell you.
Very soon, the route re-joins the road but it’s a very minor, almost single-track. This section really is sublime. Virtually free of traffic, it rolls up and down the countryside testing your thighs in places but never really causing any considerable effort. You can tell you’re nearing the end of your journey when the road starts to descend seriously, with the comforting knowledge Balloch is now within touching distance.
Finally, the route takes you into the top of Balloch Country Park for a short ride down to Balloch and the train station, giving you a brief glimpse of Loch Lomond, but you need to take a little detour further into the country park to see more of the Loch.
That had to be the longest nine miles of the day, but very enjoyable and invigorating. My legs were telling me they’d worked hard today and I was looking forward to the relaxing train journey back to Glasgow, then Croy, finishing with the five-mile cycle from the station to home.
Now usually I’m singing the praises of train travel but today was not a good train day!
It all started at Balloch Station. A train had already been cancelled due to trespassers on the line, so by the time I arrived at the small station it was already full of people awaiting the next train, including around six or seven other cyclists and their bikes. This was going to be fun!
We cyclists had a bit of a ‘discussion’ with somebody who had decided she wanted to sit in the space dedicated for cycle storage, but finally we persuaded her that she could sit in a seat nearby and free the bike space for, well, bikes!
In addition to being full of cyclists and their bikes, the train was full of very young teenagers openly drinking out of bottles of lurid looking blue, red and green alcoholic drinks, who were now obviously feeling the effects of the alcohol.
Behind me another person was playing his music at high volume, including hits such as American Pie and he clearly felt it was his duty to sing along to this at the top of his voice – which did not at all blend in with Don McLean’s dulcet tones.
Once everyone was settled however, the train trundled, stopped and trundled before finally halting at Dalmuir Station. We were all advised this train would be going no further and we should all disembark and catch the next train at the station to wherever we wished to go. Except the doors of the carriages were locked, so now the drunken teenagers, singing man and a bunch of cyclists could do nothing but await a frazzled-looking guard to eventually arrive and manually open the doors for us.
Hurray, I thought, just a hop over the platform (via the lift of course) to catch the train sitting there waiting to leave for Glasgow and then the Balloch train could be cast into the back of my memory for ever.
But worse was to come. As I pressed the luminated button to open the doors of the next train I was hit by a haze of what I can only describe as drug-filled warm air pouring out of the carriage. Thankfully, perhaps due to the drugs I was now inhaling, the journey passed fairly quickly and I was soon in Glasgow Queen Street Station awaiting the train to Croy.
No calamities on this train and I was soon cycling the last five miles home.
All thoughts of cycling to Aberfoyle the following day were firmly cast aside as I locked my bike away, did a strip down putting everything I could in the washing machine before jumping into the shower to scrub myself clean.
Peace and normality were restored when Mr M served up sausage and mash followed by a ridiculously generous portion of Freda’s Apple Crumble and Ice Cream.
A good day though, with more miles cycled, probably around the forty mark, and no apparent lasting damage from the train journey and drugs I’d inhaled, but my next cycling day’s planning can wait a few days as I enjoy a couple of days away with Mr M, Beatrix and Evie the Campervan.
I hope you enjoyed this next episode of my impossible aim. Please leave me a comment and sign up to our newsletter so you never miss any of our blogs and news.
Debra x
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Saturday morning, 19 March, I was up with the larks. Well, that’s not entirely true because the birds at the back of our house like to wake us up around four o’clock in the morning, every morning, with their morning song. It’s not a bad way to be woken up but sometimes I do wish they’d have a little lie in.
Overnight the sky had been clear so everywhere was now white with a thick frost. Mr M made my porridge and my lunch butties, along with a flask of tea. Yes, I do know how spoiled I am. I packed a few extra supplies and a spare jacket. I had to make a big decision as to which gloves to wear but finally opted for my woollen ones, knowing that there was no rain forecast so I didn’t really need my bulky waterproof ones. Of course, I remembered to pack my face mask, hand gel and GTN spray (that’s a whole other story!).
A short five-mile cycle to the local train station at Croy blew the morning cobwebs away but oh my, were my feet cold by the time I got there!
Talking about Croy Station, it’s interesting to see the work being carried out there at the moment. This station already boasts to have Scotland’s largest free railway station carpark but the walk over to the other side of the platform is a bit of hike, especially with a pram, wheelchair or bicycle. Mr M and I have been debating whether they’re going to build a bridge over the tracks or a tunnel under the line. I decided it has to be a tunnel as it would have to be a skyscraper of a bridge to go over the new electric lines. Mr M insisted it’s going to be a bridge. Sadly, I have to say I do believe in this instance Mr M might actually be correct. Time will tell.
Back to my story. The train journey from Croy to Glasgow Queen Street is just a matter of ten minutes. Once there, was a bit of a rush to get from the high-level platforms, finding the lift and getting down to the low level and I made the train leaving for Balloch with 30 seconds to spare.
I was soon able to get my bike secured and settled myself down to enjoy the journey. The Balloch train is an old-style train and the journey seems to take on a different feel to those on the high-speed intercity trains. This train just plods along, calling at every tiny train station on its way. Perhaps it was because it was early on a Saturday morning, but there was a relaxed air about the train. There were very few other passengers on the train so I had no fear of catching the dreaded Covid during my journey.
As we left the city of Glasgow, the scenery gradually changed. Travelling alongside the motorway the sky was clear blue and even the city was looking pretty. Passing through places such as Anniesland and Westerton, the city seemed to be forgotten and countryside was beckoning. A little further along the line, the Erskine Bridge made an impressive backdrop to the view. Some fifty minutes after leaving Glasgow, the train slowly pulled into Balloch.
Leaving Balloch station, you simply cross over the road and follow the cycle route signs for Luss and Tarbet. Signposts for Tarbet continue all the way along the route, so you can really follow the route without any need to map-read. Mind you, there’s nothing better than spending time studying maps and imagining where you might be heading or remembering where you’ve been. Mr M knows that once my head is in a map at home, he stands little chance of having a conversation with me.
The route today begins with a bit of a bumpy, rough ride through a car park and into Balloch Country Park to reach The National Park Gateway Centre, passing Drumkinnon Tower and the information centre as you reach Lomond Shores. A quick stop at the conveniences there and I was ready to go. Heading up the path, the route turns right and takes you along the Old Luss Road before starting a section where you follow the main A82. This is dedicated cycle track, separated from the road, but gives a slight unnerving feeling as you’re riding against the on-coming traffic, despite not being on the road itself. This route winds its way along the side of Loch Lomond, sometimes running alongside the road, but is always separate from the main road.
Before long you get your first view of Loch Lomond and the impressive Ben Lomond as you pass by Duck Bay Marina. Today the views were amazing, with clear blue sky and very little wind making the loch as clear and still as a mill pond. The footpath was busy with people who had just been for a swim in the lake and were now wrapped up in their big coats, cuddling cups of hot drinks. I made a mental note to tell my son, Benjamin, about this as he is slowly introducing me to the pleasures of cold-water swimming.
In the guidebook, the description of this routes says it’s a flat route, but don’t be fooled. It might not climb to any height but the track has many ups and downs, twists and turns. You need to keep your wits about you as you cross junctions, manoeuvre over tree roots growing over the path, gravel and rotting leaves and clicking quickly through your gears as you round corners to be faced with short, steep section. Fear not though, there are no hills that last more than a couple of minutes. And what goes up, has to go down again meaning there are lots of places where you can get your breath back before you once again enjoy the relatively flat route. The rough surface in places and the close proximity to the main A82 road is worth it though for the sections where you’re away from the roadside and travel alongside the loch. It’s not long before mountains are starting to appear in the distance and you really do get that feeling that you’re within touching distance of the Highlands.
A mere eight miles after leaving Balloch, you find yourself on the road leading to the pretty village of Luss. For this section you join the road that leads into the village, but for me, this doesn’t spoil the enjoyment and it’s certainly not a busy, fast road. Just before reaching Luss at the little hamlet of Aldochlay, you can see a statue of a child, known at Wee Peter, in the loch. Doing a bit of research on this, legend was that it was a memorial to a child drowned in the loch, but the truth was it was put there in 1890 by a local stonemason who found the statue in a London scrapyard and thought it looked like his own very alive son.
I was surprised reaching Luss to see that a new, huge carpark has appeared opposite the original public car park. There’s obviously a need for this as even now cars seem to park anywhere and anyhow, despite signs pleading for you to use the car park and not drive through the lovely village. How times have changed since the TV programme Take the Highroad was filmed there! Tourism is needed in the area but not wanted I feel. Despite, this, the carpark is not terrible eyesore and has been created quite aesthetically and does have plenty of picnic tables dotted around it. Will this prevent people leaving their picnic rubbish at the side of the loch I wonder.
Leaving Luss you begin what I think is probably the best part of the route. You cycle alongside the loch so closely that at times you feel you could almost dip your fingers in the crystal-clear water. It’s hard to imagine that the cycle track at this point is what used to the be main road to Tarbet. It’s now quite overgrown with the only indications of the old road being the few remaining cat’s eyes dotted down the middle of the track. I think I’m glad I never had to drive my car on this old bit of road at it really is so close to the water at some points. I can’t believe that people could drive along this road in winter and not find themselves going for a dip in their motor vehicles, especially in the harsh Scottish winters.
Rolling along really was a dream today with a building tail wind gently pushing me along my journey. Stopping to take some photos of the impressive mountains in the distance I took the opportunity to have a small bar of chocolate and a drink of juice from my bottle. I can tell you that when you are out cycling or walking, even a simple drink of water tastes like heaven. I could even imagine that I was feeling quite fit on the bike today!
For the last section of the route, you are taken back up to run alongside the A82 but you know you’re reaching your lunch stop of Tarbet, which spurs you on.
Reaching Tarbet just about two hours after leaving Balloch, there’s a fabulous area with benches, picnic tables and grass for you to sit and while away the hours, looking out onto the impressive mountain of Ben Lomond. There are public conveniences and, I discovered, a new facility for motorhome uses to re-fill water and dispose safely of their waste products. That is now noted deep in my memory for when we are out in Evie our campervan.
I found myself a picnic table and put down my picnic mat. I don’t know about you, but I always feel more comfortable when I’m sitting on a blanket rather than just on the bench. It makes the picnic seem even more special.
Knowing I’d made good time, the weather was glorious and the trains back from Balloch run every half hour, I settled myself down for an hour of bliss. I pulled out my picnic. Tea from a flask at home tastes rubbish, but hot tea from a flask when you’re out on a picnic is just the best. Of course, I had my egg mayo butties made by Mr M to start my picnic, followed nicely by a large piece of Charlotte’s Fab Slice. Just what the doctor ordered. Well, I think the doctor knew I was still getting fit on my bike and had used quite a lot of my energy because he also prescribed a fruit slice and a lemon wannabe biscuit.
Then it was back on the cycle route to return to Balloch for the return journey home. The cycle route back to Balloch seems more enjoyable somehow. Maybe it’s because on the sections where you are next to the main road you are cycling with the flow of the traffic and not against it. The sun was still shining but it was now a bit of a headwind. The loch was not quite so calm now and passing once again by the Duck Bay Marina, you could almost imagine there to be waves on the water.
But I was soon back at Balloch Station. Settled on the train to Glasgow Queen Street once more I enjoyed a well-earned bar of Cadbury’s Dairy milk and finished off my juice. Just five more miles to cycle once I get back to Croy for the final section home.
Today was a cycle of around 42 miles over the day, so the miles are starting to creep up. I’m already thinking about a route for next week.
I wonder what Mr M has made us for tea.
I knew things were getting exciting when Mum brought down the big purple suitcase. The presence of this big suitcase means only one thing - Mum and Dad are going away. And when Mum and Dad go away together, they always, always take me with them.
Early in the morning of the 23 December, Mum was back and forwards packing the car. I was so excited, even though I knew it meant me having a journey in the back of our small car with only half a seat. But I wasn’t caring. We were going on holiday.
Soon we were off. Dad was driving to start with as he’s ok on the motorway. Mum doesn’t let him drive on the country roads as he forgets where he’s going and gets into a bit of panic.
It was an uneventful trip, with a quick stop for a you know what on at Gretna services and for us to have a picnic in the car. Mum and Dad said they didn’t want to go into the services because it was just too dangerous. I wasn’t bothered though as I got my very own patch of grass to use.
A couple of hours later we stopped outside a house. I wasn’t sure where we were exactly as I’d not been to this place before, but Mum went running in, so I followed her. There was the lovely Chloe who gave me a smile and a cuddle. But then I spotted that Minnie person and, not only that, there was another little human person too.
That Minnie was all over me. She grabbed me, put her fingers close to my eyes, in my mouth and grabbed my tail. I looked at Mum. She pointed to me and told me to be nice. She also pointed to Minnie and told her to be gentle with me.
Do you know what that Minnie did? She pointed at Grandma and giggled! If I’d have done that to Mum, she would not have been happy! Mind you, thinking about it when I give mum a paw, she does smile at me. Is giving the paw the same thing as pointing I wondered?
The tiny human, Harley, was totally different. He’s a little cutie and just tickled me and giggled.
I had a bit of a look around and saw a huge basket of toys way bigger than the basket at home. And what was there on the top of all the toys? A huge Peppa Pig sitting there like a great big soft lump of bacon. I thought I’d just have a little play with it, grabbed it out of the basket and started shaking it about like I do with my toys at home.
Well Minnie was hysterical. She was laughing so much that she fell over. It was a good job she had a nappy on there would have been an accident on the floor I’m sure.
Mum was not so happy and told me off saying I must not play with the children’s toys. It was a different matter when that Minnie was at my house and she was putting my toy chop in her mouth getting baby slaver over everything. Nobody told her off then. And can I just remind you that was also the time when Minnie put Baby Jesus in her mouth and nobody said anything to her!
As for Chloe, well I thought that my mum had a scary cross face! Chloe was certainly not a happy human.
Dad saved the day getting my tennis ball from his pocket. It’s amazing the stuff he keeps in his pockets. Mum’s always telling him he’s like a boy scout!
Minnie (or Mad Max as Mum now calls her) wasn’t so bad then. She played ball with me quite the little girl and I’ve realized that my lovely smelly tennis ball is much nicer than a soft fluffy Peppa Pig.
The peace didn’t last long though and Minnie went back to prodding and poking me, so I growled at her and pushed her away. Mum decided we’d all had enough of each other.
Off we set in the car back up to the hotel where were staying. Once I’d sniffed around the place and checked it was safe for us, we went back down the moving floor thing into the exciting food place.
Ben, my human brother came to meet us. I was so excited as it’s been ages since I’ve seen him. He is always so pleased to see me. He strokes me and talks so nicely to me and always drops some nibbles to me from the table when he thinks nobody is looking. I like Ben.
I found it a bit strange in the food place as there were a lot of flashing lights and people sitting at tables around the room. One person was up there singing at the top of his voice (which was hurting my ears) and everyone kept clapping. I thought they were clapping for me to get up and dance, but no, they were just humans being humans.
Then it was back up to the room for a good night’s sleep before going back down to see that Minnie!
Minnie was much better behaved (for a while). I toyed with the idea of getting Peppa Pig out of the toy basket but then I remembered Chloe’s scary face and thought better of it.
I thought Mum was a bit quiet in the morning but was distracted with activities in the kitchen. Chicken and beef for were being cooked for dinner. Oh, the smell. I was starting to drool already.
Mum suddenly said she was taking me for a walk but she really wasn’t much fun at all, just plodding around the park kicking the tennis ball for me and not throwing it all. She didn’t even talk to me.
When we got back to the house, the smells were absolutely wonderful. Peppa Pig! Who needs her when you have chicken and beef to look forward to?
“I feel a bit sick,” said Mum. “I’ll just go for a lie down.”
More chicken for me I thought but then did feel a bit guilty for being selfish.
Mum came back down as dinner was being served. It was so exciting. All this food and little humans who love dropping food to me.
Then Mum disappeared upstairs again only to re-appear just as the food dropping was beginning to get interesting.
“Can we go back to the hotel,” she asked Dad.
No! I thought. I’ve not had any chicken yet.
But off we went with Dad driving, so things had to be bad.
Mum went straight into the little room, making lots of strange noises. I tell you, when she came out of that little room she was a grey as the winter sky outside! And she just slithered her way onto the big bed.
I wasn’t going near her! Dad could look after her. She was in an out of the little room so many times she was making me dizzy. I found myself a cosy comfortable space under the table where I was out of the way but could still keep my eye on the two of them.
Well would you believe it but then Dad started going in and out of the little room too. It wasn’t long before he was just as grey looking as Mum!
The next 24 hours passed very slowly for me. I was very worried about the two of them but didn’t know what I could do. There were times I was bursting for the toilet but I just had to hold it in. Usually, Mum and Dad are really good with me and take me for walks all the time but they spent all the time just laid on the bed not moving, not talking and crawling in and out of the little room.
I heard them talking about viruses with names like Covid and Nora.
Worse was to come though. When we go away Mum always packs my food into bags and Dad then puts some cheese or ham on top of the dry food. Not this time. I had to eat my dog food dry! The only thing that was offered to me was a dry oatcake! Some Christmas this was turning into!
The following day, Mum and Dad slowly packed all the bags and we were soon back in the car. A little stop at Mad Max’s house to say goodbye to everyone. I’ve never seen such a sad, poorly lot of humans in my life. The only humans laughing and smiling were Minnie and Harley!
Back into the car and Mum said she had to drive through the Dales until we got to the motorway as her stomach wouldn’t cope with being a passenger.
In the back of the car, I can sit up and look out of the window. I know the route well now and recognise lots of places.
Leaving Halifax, the weather was as sad looking as Mum and Dad and you could hardly see anything through the fog. As we travelled out of Calderdale, up to the heights of Denholme Gate and the Flappits, the fog lifted and it turned into a pleasant trip.
Just before darkness fell, we pulled into our drive at home. At last!
And it’s been a quiet time since then. There has been no festive spirit and very, very short walks. One good thing about this whole sad affair is that Mum hasn’t had all those musical toys playing everyday like every other Christmas holiday! I do feel a bit sad for her though as she loves Christmas and this has been a miserable time for her this year.
She says that this is making her even more determined to have her Christmas Tearoom where it will indeed be Christmas every day!
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Mr M beat me to opening our advent calendar today! (but I have my Hotel Chocolat advent calendar which is not! for sharing).
December is an extra special time for us as we have Minnie's birthday to celebrate on 14th. Wait for it. This year she will be 3! How did that even happen?
Those regulars to the tearoom will remember the visits I had down to Halifax, often leaving the tearoom early on a Sunday afternoon and leaving Mr M in charge. Of course, he only thought he was in charge, the lovely tearoom family was really in charge and kept an eye on him and the tearoom in my absence.
This year, as Minnie is Peppa Pig obsessed, it just had to be a Peppa Pig birthday cake for her. It's a bit of a logistical challenge timing the making of the cake, organising the journey down from Scotland and keeping the cake and all the bits and pieces secure. So the cake is now ready and I'll be leaving Mr M in the capable hands of Beatrix as I drive down to Yorkshire tomorrow. That should give me time before Tuesday to repair any cake breakages!
December Celebration Box
Don't forget December is a short month for making sure everything gets out in time for the big day. The last orders for our December Celebration Box will be 9am on 21st December.
(Please also not that there will now be no orders processed until Wednesday 14th December this coming week to give me chance to celebrate Minnie's birthday with her in Yorkshire).
Click here to order your December Celebration Box
For a Christmas gift idea, how about a recipe book with a difference - The Magical Tearoom on the Hill, Recipes, Tales and Adventures
Click here to order your copy of The Magical Tearoom on the Hill
Traditional Christmas Cake
My Christmas Cake is maturing nicely and will just get one more feeding with the brandy before I cover it in marzipan. I'm hoping to do some live videos of me putting the marzipan on my cake and then making royal icing. Here are some details for you:
Friday 17 December, 2 pm - Covering Christmas Cake in Marzipan
You will need:
- Cake Board 2" or so larger than your cake. I've made an 8" square cake so have a 10" square board.
- Some jam, something like apricot jam, to cover the cake to make the marzipan stick to it.
- Marzipan. Ready made is good nowadays but you can make your own if you like. Delia has a great recipe for home made marzipan. I've got 3 blocks of 500g of marzipan myself. It's best to have too much rather than not enough. You can always make marzipan treats from the left overs.
Wednesday 22 December, 2 pm, Covering Christmas Cake in Royal Icing
This year I'm covering my cake with royal icing and making a snow scene. You can also cover yours in fondant icing if you wish. Again, you can buy good quality fondant now but there are plenty of recipes to make your own if you have time.
For the royal icing, you will need:
- 500g icing sugar
- 3 medium free range eggs
- 1 teaspoon glycerine (this is optional. You can get this from supermarkets and it helps to give a shine to your royal icing and stops it setting too hard, but don't worry too much if you can't get any).
- Decorations to put on your snow scene and/or some ribbon to tie around the sides. How to decorate is your choice.
Real Christmas Trees, Baby Jesus and The Beauty Parlour
For those who missed the live video, here is the real story of Beatrix and Baby Jesus, as told by Beatrix. Who knows, maybe Beatrix will publish a book next year!
Finally, how many mince pies have you had so far? Do you know it's reported to be be good luck to eat a mince pie every day in December!
* Please leave a comment on the blog or just say Hi *
]]>I'm very fortunate to live in East Dunbartonshire in Scotland so when everyone else across the country was forced to walk the streets because hills were beyond their 5 mile permitted travelling area, I was able to hike up and over the Campsie Fells, providing me and Beatrix, our collie, with much needed freedom and amazing views of the distance Munro mountains.
Perhaps that's what caught my attention when I was looking at the the different groups on Facebook. Anyway, I mustered up my courage and asked if I could join the group. I was a little bit worried I might be out of my depth as a writer, having only just written my first book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill. But still, a published book must entitle me to call myself a writer I thought.
I need not have worried about how I'd be received. The Campsie Writer's Group has to be one of the most relaxed set of people I now have the pleasure of calling my friends.
Over the last year we've had regular meetings (zoom of course) and we've laughed, shared stories, written stories, planned stories and listened to stories. Sometimes we have a photo to write a short story about or perhaps a few words. It's a very informal thing. If you manage to write a story that's great but there's no pressure to do so and no shame if you arrive at the meeting in your pyjamas, still eating your breakfast toast at 1.00 pm with no story. Nobody minds. Nobody judges you. Everyone is just pleased to see you join the meeting.
Our last meeting was this Monday, 18 October, which as some people will know, was my birthday. I'd been given the task of providing a few words for people to write a story around, using my words as the start, middle or ending of their short story. The words I provided the group were, "with some trepidation, she steadied her shaking hand and pushed the plug into the socket".
We had two weeks to think of a story using these words and I decided that as the day for reading the stories was my birthday, I'd allow myself to talk about my dream. After all, if you can't follow your dream on your birthday, when can you?
Dare to Dream
March 2020
Boris told the nation we had to close, lock ourselves away and try to stay safe from the dreaded virus spreading and killing the world. The Magical Tearoom on the Hill had to close.
Was this the end of a dream?
No! No! No! I will write a new chapter in the life of Mother Murphy's.
Months passed. Ideas were born. Plans were drawn up.
A log cabin at the edge of the Highlands. Not just a log cabin, but a log cabin with a tearoom.
Not just a tearoom, a Christmas Tearoom, where it's Christmas everyday. Twinkling lights, sweet spices, a fabulous Christmas tree in the corner and a toy train running around the walls. Staff in Victorian outfits, Santa serving coffees and Christmas crafting in the evenings.
The dream continues. Today is the day. All that's needed is the power to turn the dream into reality.
Mother Murphy arrived early in the morning and, with some trepidation, she steadied her shaking hand and pushed the plug into the socket.
There. I've said my dream out loud for the world and the universe to hear. Many people believe that's the way to make your dreams come true. Here's hoping that in the future there will indeed be a Mother Murphy's Christmas Tearoom, where once again scrummy gluten and dairy free cakes and bakes are the norm and not the exception.
Meanwhile, you can still enjoy our cakes and bakes by ordering our Monthly Box of Delights which will be delivered to you at home or your work or your friend's house or anywhere you choose.
If you want to create your own magical place with some delights of your own, why not order my book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill, which is full recipes, tales and adventures.
Back to the Campsie Writer's Group though. We are still meeting on zoom at the moment, twice a month, but do hope to be having real meetings again soon, probably in Lennoxtown. We would love to have new members join us so if you are a writer wanting to meet like-minded people, would like to be a writer, enjoy writing and listening to stories, why not join us and become one of our writing friends.
Click here, The Campsie Writer's Group, to join.
At the end of the blog, there is a space for you to leave a comment, please do so and let me know you have read it. If you want to keep in touch with the happenings, tales and adventures from Mother Murphy, please click to be added to our newsletter.
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This is how Salena's Coffee Cake began
Over the next 5 years between starting a home baking business and then opening my dream tearoom, Mother Murphy's Tearoom, I started to add stories, including adventures and mis-adventures with Beatrix the collie dog, and photos to the recipes. Lo and behold, my writings were taking the shape of a book.
With the help of IndieAuthorsWorld and the fabulous Kim and Sinclair, my A4 folder gradually became a real book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill.
Sadly though, thanks to that you know what of a bug, my official book launch in November 2020 had to be an on-line affair, which was amazing but just not the same as sitting with real people, laughing, chatting, eating cake and telling stories.
Fast forward a few months (well nearly a year!) and I was finally able to have my first real Meet the Author last Friday, 20, August, 2021 at The Port Gallery in Auchinstarry Marina. Can I just say, if you've never been to this little gallery, you don't know what you're missing. It may look like a small place but it feels a bit like a tardis when you go inside. Crammed into every nook and cranny are arts and crafts by so many different local artists. And to think I only found this gallery because the picture framing place I've used in the past was closed due to Covid and I needed somebody to frame my Beatrix Potter cross stitch for Minnie.
What a blast we had! I was taken aback by how many lovely people came to listen to me ramble on about my life, my recipes and my book. Not only that, how many people would go on to buy my book at the event! Ok, so they may have been bribed with cake!
It was just fantastic to spend time chatting away to people again. The first to arrive were Colin and Christine, who first came to the tearoom many moons ago for cake but ended up staying for hours, sharing poems, writing a poem about the tearoom and then holding a poetry evening in the tearoom. It was just that kind of place at Mother Murphy's Tearoom.
So many other people, people I knew and people I didn't know, all there to listen to me talk about my book!
There were so many co-incidences throughout the night and it was really just meant to be on that night in that place. Firstly, the date, 20th August. This was the date the lovely Dot from the Port Gallery suggested for the event. How fitting this was as that would have been my amazing Grandma's birthday. My Grandma Lammie was the inspiration for the tearoom after years of listening to her tales of what she liked and didn't like in different cafes and tearooms she visited with my Grandad.
During the event, the fire alarm at the Boat House opposite The Port Gallery went off (a couple of times to be honest!) and very quickly the marina car park was filled with fire engines and firemen. Don't forget this was a Friday. Would you believe that at the tearoom we had Fireman Friday Sultana Scones as that was the day the local fireman, Mark, would come along for his sultana scone and strong black coffee. If you don't believe me, there is a story and photos in the book about it!
A big thank you too to Duncan from the Campsie Writer's Group for coming along to take photos for me to use.
By the end of the night, there was singing and literally people dancing in the aisles! I'm not sure about everyone else, but by the time I got back home I was exhausted!
For those of you who couldn't attend the evening, I thought I'd share some of the questions I answered on the night.
Helen Cochrane (Ilustrator for my fantastic book cover)
1) What is your favourite recipe to make and your favourite recipe to eat?
This was a difficult one to answer as I just like baking. There are some things that are just so much fun to make (once you've stopped being scared by them), like making Cinder Toffee or Puff Candy. Three ingredients; sugar, golden syrup and bicarbonate of soda. It doesn't look anything special until you add the magic bicarbonate of soda and then it explodes like a volcano! Let this set hard, chop it up and coat it with chocolate, pop it in a gift bag tied up with a bit of ribbon and you'll be the best guest at any party!
I do also love to make Battenberg cake. It's a little fiddly to make but the result is worth it. This was one of the customer favourites in the tearoom.
My favourite recipe to eat? Well that has to be Lemon Meringue Pie. But the pastry has to be crisp, the lemon filling tart and the meringue plentiful! My mouth is watering now thinking about it.
2) If you were stuck on a desert island, what book would you want to have with you?
Mmm, I think I'd like to take Heidi. I always wanted to be Heidi when I was growing up and just enjoyed loosing myself in the story, imagining I was up in the Swiss mountains sleeping on a bed of hay and drinking goats milk. I have a copy of Heidi at home and to my joy I've also managed to get a copy of Heidi Grows Up and Heidi's Children. Spoiler alert here. Yes, she does marry Peter.
Laura Forsyth (Waterstones Falkirk)
1) How did you manage to choose the stories in the book and do you have a favourite?
When I first started writing my book, it was just recipes, but then over time, I started to add in stories. Each time I went walking and had a certain cake or bake with me, I'd sit upon the hill with Beatrix the Collie dog and we'd think of stories around the cake. I didn't really need to think about them as they just seemed to take shape themselves.
More stories started to develop as we began to name our cakes after customers and the tales tell of why each cake got it's name, like Dashing Tom's Custard Creams, because Tom always had a custard cream whenever they were in the tearoom.
As for my favourite I think the tale of Grasmere Gingerbread, The Breeze Blew Around the Open-Topped Car. It has everything in it - my love of the Lake District, Grasmere Gingerbread, Myles and his challenge to make this delight gluten and dairy free, and of course, how Mr M fell in love with the lake district too.
Anna Bell – Author of Roots for Growth
1) If you could offer one piece of advice to anyone who wants to write a book, what would it be?
I'm not sure that having my first book published makes me an expert to give advice but I'd say to somebody to just write. Don't think about it become a book, just enjoy the writing. Let it take shape itself. Another author at the event, Claire Miller, agreed fully with this and said just enjoy it and let the characters write the book.
2) Whereabouts is your furthest away reader that you know of?
I'm proud to say that I know of one person in Australia who has bought my book, but I know it's also in France and Finland. Does that make me a world-renouned author?
Sue Hutchings – My 'old' boss, mentor, guide, friend and just the most fabulous person
1) Can the recipes be adapted to use ordinary flour etc and how do I know what to include and what to leave out?
Yes they can be adapted back to being full of gluten and dairy no problem. To make my cakes gluten free I add xanthan gum (which gives structure to gluten free bakes). If you didn't need them to be gluten free you could just use standard plain or self raising flour and omit the xanthan gum. I do use Polenta and rice flour in some recipes but I'd say to keep these in as they give such a lovely taste and texture to the bakes.
For making the goodies dairy free I use stork block (in the gold wrapper not the tub) and I use almond milk. If you didn't need them to be dairy free you could just use butter and milk of your choice (although stork block is great for baking).
2) Where do you get inspirations for your new cakes?
This comes from many places. Sometimes it could be a cake I've eaten when I've been out somewhere that I've enjoyed. Sometimes it's a cake I've eaten out and it's been horrible and I've thought, "I can make something nicer than that". Sometimes it's people asking me for a particular bake. I'm not a fancy baker so I do like to stick to the traditional bakes that people know and love.
3) Is there a way of finding your new recipes?
At the moment new recipes are in my head. And I can tell you that being inside my head is a bit of scary place to be sometimes! I do intend to start adding more recipes to my blog and am thinking of trying to put together some bake along with Debra sessions. Technology skills need to be worked on for that though!
4) How has being a Granny changed you?
Wow! Being a Grandma is something I never thought would happen and I still can't quite believe it. There is the story in the book of when Mother Murphy became Grandma and it tells the difficulties that my daughter Chloe had before little Minnie the Minx came along. And then, just like buses that seem to take for ever to come along and then come along two at a time, along came the amazing Harley.
When you become a mum you think that you could never love anyone more than your children and then along come the grandchildren. It's not that you love them more than your children, but you love them differently. And of course, you can spoil them and hand them back!
I'm incredibly proud of Chloe for the bravery she showed (and shows) and hope that I'm as a good a Grandma as my lovely Grandma was for me.
5) What next?
I'd like to think that I will one day have another Magical Tearoom, perhaps in a Castle overlooking the mountains and sea. Meanwhile I'm writing another book. Well, Beatrix is telling the stories and I'm doing the typing as her paws get in the way of the keys on the keyboard. But who knows. The world has been a bit of a mad place this last year or so. Story teller, baker, writer, crocheter? A TV show or magazine column would be amazing (hint, hint if anyone in high places is reading this)
6) Could you post a picture of parchment lined tin?
You can buy parchment liners in all different shapes and sizes. They're a quick and easy way to line your baking tins. If you use parchment paper rather than greaseproof paper, you don't need to grease the paper, although I lightly grease the tin before adding the parchment liner to hold it in place as you put the filling in. If you can't get the liners, you can just make your own by cutting parchment paper to fit. It doesn't need to be neat, you just need to make sure the bottom and sides of the tin are covered. But if you don't have any, so long as you really well grease your tin, it should still come of your tin once baked.
7) I don’t have a proper mixer but I have a thing with a blade and I use this for making a lemon drizzle. Could I use if for other cakes and if, so are there any cakes I can’t use it for? Can I make pastry with it?
I'm guessing that the thing with a blade is a food processor. You can make most things in a food processor, but I do feel at times this can beat the mix too much, which can lead to a more dense cake. I don't think I'd make, for example, a Victoria sponge in one as you want a light cake. They don't hold very much either so for larger cakes, it's a bit messy using a food processor.
Let's not forget though that cakes were invented long before all these kitchen gadgets were. When I was doing my 'O' level domestic science I was taught to make a cake using the creaming method with just a wooden spoon and to whip fresh cream or eggs for a meringue with a fork. And yes, our teacher used to get us to check we had whipped it enough by tipping the bowl upside down over our heads! Karen will vouch for this I'm sure.
I like to make pastry by hand but yes, I do also make pastry in a food processor or a food mixer. I find gluten free pastry is fine in the processor as you will never develop the gluten in it by over beating, but you can sometimes make gluten pastry a bit heavy by over mixing.
Really though, no matter how you make your cakes and bakes, they will still taste much better than the shop bought variety.
8) What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?
This is an easy one. It has to be lasagne. But second day lasagne when the cheese is crispy around the edge. No sloppy, runny cheese for me!
9) Do you use big eggs or a special size?
I know some people are bit fussy about their eggs and even weigh them, but I just use medium free range eggs and it always seems to work for me.
10) Which is best, joyous wild swimming or trudging up mountains?
That's a difficult one. I love swimming and I love walking. But my real love is cycling. Many years ago whilst still at junior school I was a competitive swimmer but being from a poor Yorkshire family with no car, it was difficult for me to attend as many training sessions as the other swimmers so I was always at a bit of a disadvantage.
Once I started grammar school I found that I loved athletics, especially the hurdles and javelin and was encouraged to join an athletics club. Again, not having a car, I found it difficult to get to the training as there were no buses on a Sunday. So I started to cycle from Northowram in Halifax to the athletics track at Cleckheaton (probably about 10 miles there and then 10 miles back) but soon realised I was enjoying the cycling more than the athletics so joined a cycling club.
Walking the high fells is amazing though and I certainly enjoy the solace that the mountains provide and of course, I can take Beatrix up the hills with me.
I've just discovered the joy of wild swimming thanks to my son Benjamin and had my first dip in Grasmere in the Lake District. I can tell you that looking at the mountains as you swim is much better than the walls of the swimming pool.
Did that answer the question? Probably not. I think they all have their pull to me but if I could only do one sport it would have to be cycling.
Nicky Lynch – The Posh Lady
1) How many tines have you attempted a recipe before you successfully and happily got the best result?
It's varied with the different cakes and bakes. Sometimes I'd bake a cake and I knew straight away that it was good. Other times, I knew straight away that it was vile and I would never make it again, like the vegan cream cheese frosting I made for my carrot cake. Apologies to the vegans here but the frosting smelt horrible, didn't look too clever and just slid off the cake so never even reached the tearoom for the verdict of the customers.
Other bakes, like Grasmere Gingerbread have been amended numerous times and I'm sure that I've not completely finished this yet. Not everyone has tasted the original Grasmere Gingerbread (a cross between a biscuit and a cake) from Grasmere in the Lake District so don't really know what I'm trying to re-create. But I do. Sarah Nelson's is a secret family recipe but I'm almost there (and of course mine is gluten and dairy free).
Muriel – Campsie Writers Group
1) How long did it take you to write the book?
Probably the whole process from start to finish was something like five years.
2) Why did you write it?
I think I've already answered this in a way. Writing the recipes down began as a way of making sure that the finished bakes would be almost the same each time we made them, whether it was me or Mr M who baked them. It was also a way of making sure that I knew exactly what ingredients were in the bakes to be able to advise customers of any allergens. From then, the stories just started to be added to the recipes.
2) What changes have happened in your life since publishing?
For a long time after publishing nothing thanks to the lockdown across the country. However, I've now joined groups like the Campsie Writers' Group and Women in Business and met a whole new set of people that I might never have had the opportunity to meet if I were still in the tearoom.
It's taken me a while to fully appreciate that I have actually written a book and that people are enjoying reading, whether it be for the recipes or the stories (or both) and I'm only just feeling that it's acceptable to call myself an author. I do think that it's given me a little more confidence in myself and hopefully more events like this will be organised in the coming months.
3) Where to from here? When you travel in your campervan could you do a travelogue encompassing local food recipes?
Now that's a piece of news I've not share with everyone yet. Yes, this week, we are picking up our very first campervan. Not a new one and not a very large one (I'll be doing the driving!). Looking in the bookshops for tales of people in their campervans, I have found the shelves to be bare so who knows. Maybe I will write a travelogue, Debra, Mr M and Beatrix travel the country in Evie (I've already named my campervan!). Watch this space.
Salena Riley – Crafty Sal, Amazing Friend (but whose friendship membership has hung on a shaky nail a couple of times!)
1) We all have our favourite cakes that you have created, mine being coffee cake. But what’s your favourite. If you can’t manage one, what are your top 3?
In the book, our coffee cake is named after Salena as she fell in love with this the first time she came to the tearoom. I was never a big fan of coffee cake, but I have to admit that even I like my version of coffee cake now!
Over the years I have eaten so many cakes and my go to cake (apart from Lemon Meringue Pie) would be chocolate fudge cake. Nowadays thought I'm more likely to go for a fruit cake or fruit slice. Oh but then there is Bakewell tart. And then there is carrot cake. I guess I just love cake and biscuits.
2) Are there any cakes you’ve not yet mastered that we can expect to find in your next book?
In the tearoom because we didn't have a refrigerated cake display, I was never really able to make cheese cakes (if the customers can't see them as they are tucked away in a fridge, the customers won't buy them!). I'd like to make a selection of cheese cakes but these would have to be gluten free and not dairy free, unless I can master using the vegan cream cheese.
Now of course, my book is available to buy direct from us, online in various places included Amazon and even an e-book. My latest claim to fame though is that I now have real, proper copies of my book in book stops including the lovely Sam Read Bookseller in the village of Grasmere just around the corner from the Grasmere Gingerbread shop.
Just look at that line up of books!
But wait. There's more. Have you seen the film Miss Potter? There is a scene in the film where Beatrix Potter is out with her publisher, Norman Warne, and accompanied by her chaperone as they walk through the town. There is a book shop with Beatrix's new book in the window. I remember watching that film and hoping that one day I would be able to re-create that scene for myself. Well, today it happened. Yes, my book, written by my own fair hands, is sitting pride of place in the window of Waterstones Book store in Falkirk. Today, I re-created that scene for myself.
A proud, proud moment for me I can tell you
If you've reached the end of this long blog, thank you so much for taking the time to read it and I hope you've enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave a comment for me.
]]>Have these just as they come or try dipped in chocolate, with cheese or with jam. Make a lovely filling to sandwich two together and you'll make an exceedingly scrummy treat. You can use any size cutter for these but don't roll the dough too thick.
This recipe and more, can be found in my book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill. Along with the recipes you will find tales mixed with adventures and find out how the cakes and bakes got their names. These wannabe digestives feature in the tale (or nightmare!) A barking dog, a helicopter rescue and lemon wannabes.
Ingredients (this will make about 60 small single biscuits)
160g gluten free oats
60g pumpkin seeds
60g sunflower seeds
620g gluten free plain flour
200g dark brown sugar
200g stork block
1 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons gluten free baking powder
200 ml almond milk
12 Bake for 15 minutes until golden and just firm to tough (they’ll become crisper once cold).
13 Remove from the oven, leave on the baking tray for 10 minutes then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely
Enjoy!
Don't forget you can come along and have a chat with me at the Meet the Author event at the Port Gallery, Auchinstarry.
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No helicopter required Me and my boy
I had another solo adventure to tackle Ben Ime and complete yet another of the Munros. Not that I’ll ever complete all the 184 as I’m too feared of the high pinnacles and ridges to even attempt some of the Skye ones. My experience of having to cross Helvelyn’s Striding Edge on my tummy many years ago is etched in my memory and brings me out in a cold sweat even now!
Ben Ime
Last week I took a visit down to Halifax, surprising my daughter Chloe when I knocked on her door! Just what the doctor ordered for me. I had a trip out to York and the National Railway Museum with Benjamin and Minnie. Minnie showed that she might be tiny in name and stature but by no means short of courage. The small climbing frames were not good enough for her and Uncle Ben had to help her climb to top of the highest. She’ll be up the mountains with Grandma soon!
Then we all had a day out in Blackpool. My first trip to the seaside with Minnie and Harley. Can I just point out here that even as a child I never liked Blackpool. I hated the noise, the crowds, the smell of hot dogs and the pleasure beach. I was the child that couldn’t go on the rides as I was always ill! Even now I still struggle just pushing Minnie on a swing! But Chloe loves Blackpool and that was where she wanted to go. If anyone needed a treat it is little Chloe with everything she’s been through over the years, including having a lock-down baby! Not that the stress of being a lock-down baby has filtered through to Harley who is most chilled out baby I’ve ever known. He just watches his demon sister run around, smiles at everyone, sleeps on the count of three and now eats anything that’s put in front of him. Bring on the cakes Grandma I can hear him saying.
Mind you, years ago I was at Blackpool for a totally different reason than sand, sea and candyfloss. In my early teens I’d just started to dabble at road racing on my bike. One of the first events I was entered into was circuit racing on Blackpool Promenade. Yes, they closed part of the promenade for a bunch of cyclists. I was very wet behind the ears at racing then and it was a close thing as to whether I was even going to be allowed to start the race. Little did I know that as a junior your gear ratio was limited so that you couldn’t race in a high gear. A bit technical here but the big gears are restricted in youths to protect the youngsters from overloading their muscles during a race (pushing too high a gear) and also to maintain a level playing field between competitors. Except nobody had told me this and I turned up with my bike and was sitting proudly (but very nervously) at the front of the pack waiting for the starting gun. I was given pride of place at the front of the pack as I was the only girl racing in the event. Just as the gun was about to be fired, the starter looked down at me and said, “young lady, what are those gears you are riding?” “Erm, what do you mean?” I asked as my pride quickly slipped away into the sea. Ok, so it ebbed away onto the sand, there never being any sea at Blackpool as the tide always seems to out! Panic and a little humiliation were now rapidly replacing my pride and nerves as the crowd watched the show and the rest of the competitors grumped and moaned at the delay. But the starter took pity on this novice young girl and quickly marched towards me armed with a screwdriver. He swiftly blocked my rear derailleur to prevent me reaching the smallest cogs on my sprocket. To put it simply, my legs would now go round much faster but there would be less power in each pedal rotation. In one twist of his screwdriver, I’d gone from powering up ’ill and down dale across the Yorkshire Dales with my cycling club needing all the gears I had to keep up with the guys on the club runs to having my gears limited so I could twiddle my pedals across the flat promenade at Blackpool! I didn’t win!
Memories. Those were the days though.
Once my twisted knee is back to where it should be, I’m planning to get back on my bike. If truth be known, cycling is more my thing than walking the hills. I love the hills yes, but cycling is my first love.
Meanwhile back to being the lost Yorkshire Girl. During my self-imposed hibernation I was having a bit of a chat with Benjamin telling him I felt I’d lost my way a bit with all my creativity vanishing into the Scotch mist somewhere and I didn’t know what direction to go in. Well do you know what he said? “I admire you Mum. You’ve never been driven by a salary and you’re trying to follow your dreams”. Those words “I admire you Mum” are perhaps the best words I’ve heard in a long time. To have your children say they admire you is a job well done I can tell you.
So, I’m popping my head back above the parapet and the light is starting to appear. Do you know, as soon as you start to look around, good things happen. I’m now planning different things for me to do to get my creativity back, things I’ve always wanted to do, things I’ve put off doing, and things I might want to try. I started by writing a letter to a special person in France rather than sending an email. A real ink pen and paper thing which felt rather good.
The next thing I did was to make a pair of curtains for our downstairs toilet. That might sound like a simple thing, but it’s been about seven years since we had the extension built! Now I look at them with pride and smile that I was able to make them.
Seven years in the making!
I’m planning lots of other things too, like taking my guitar back out of its case and learning to play it. Mr M (who of course is the guitar man himself) bought me a left-handed guitar many years ago and I am sorry to say that I neglected it and let the pain of the guitar strings on my delicate fingers get the better of me. Now I’m determined. Maybe one day I’ll be able to play Streets of London alongside Mr M. I still won’t be able to sing.
But the most amazing thing that has happened to me since peeping into the light once more is that I have my first real, live Meet the Author event planned. It's like a real book launch for The Magical Tearoom on the Hill. A few months ago I was looking to get the cross stitch birth sampler framed that I’d spent over 10 years making for Minnie. I know, Minnie is only two now, but those that have read my book and the tale of When Mother Murphy became Grandma, know why it took so long for me to finish. A little place at Auchenstarry Marina was recommended to me. So off I went armed with my precious cross stitch. Chatting away, the conversation moved to the tearoom and my book and before I knew it, my book was sitting pride of place on one of the shelves in the art gallery with the promise of book event once covid restrictions were lifted. And there we have it, Meet the Author at The Port Gallery on 20 August 2021. This is a very special day as this would have been my amazing Grandma Lammie’s birthday and my tearoom was inspired by this wonderful lady so it’s fitting to be able to share my stories on what would have been her birthday.
If you’re planning to come along to the event (which is just a drop in thing so you don’t need to stay for the full five hours), do you have a question you’d like to ask or a particular story you’d like me to read? If you can’t come along, still send me your questions and I’ll put a bit of a question/answer session together and post it up after the event.
Forward thinking for Mother Murphy’s I’m aiming to have our next box of scrummy cakes and bakes to be ready to send out in October. It’s been a long wait for you I know, but I’ll put an extra dollop of love in them all for you. What would you like to see in the October Box?
Finally, a little bit of an update on my best pal Beatrix. As many of you know, she had a large lump removed last year, from which she recovered remarkably well. This week she’s been back to the vet as an emergency to get another rapidly growing mass removed from her next. She’s feeling a bit sorry for herself at having to wear a polo neck jumper in the hottest week of the year, but she is doing incredibly well and desperate to get out and about. Fingers and toes crossed that she’ll be back to her bouncy self in a week or so and we will once again be back out having more adventures to tell you about.
And what of Mr M? He is loving this hot weather, thriving on the sunshine where I just wilt. He’s turned our garden into a little haven of nature, planting potatoes, carrots, onions, beetroot, coriander and flowers galore. With the addition of a bird feeder, we’re both spending hours whiling away the hours watching nature, listening to birds and admiring the bees and butterflies. Of course, I’m spoiled further when he gets out his guitar and I have my own private concert.
Mr M's done a fine job
]]>Sometimes weeks fly by with nothing to tell you then others have so much in them that they just need to be told, though it's difficult to know where to start
Let's go back to Thursday 22 April this year. Picture this, I was having a nice easy shift at Home Bargains (remember me telling you I had a little part time job there). I'm even allowed to work on the tills now so it was varied shift, only four hours and it was very quiet at the store. I was busy telling my workmates how in the morning I was taking another hike up Ben Ledi as the weather was to be lovely. Time was marching on and it had already left 7.00 pm. With my shift finishing at 8.00 pm, I was pottering around sorting the tins of soup into neat rows (the film Sleeping with the Enemy comes to mind here!) and humming along to the music.
"Hang on a minute, what's that heart of mine doing now. I can feel it beating out of my chest," I thought to myself. So I took myself for a little wander and forced some deep breaths and grabbed a swig of juice. "Ohh! That doesn't seem to have made much difference," said a little panicking voice in my head. Finding myself a little quiet spot away from everyone I sat myself down and took my GTN spray, only to be caught by the manager and a newly qualified first aider who both declared that I looked pretty rubbish. Thanks guys!
Fast forward a few more minutes. The GTN spray was tried again and the lovely Kyle soon had my laying on the floor in the staff canteen. Steady there! Not feeling too cracking by then, I agreed that perhaps it wasn't a bad idea to phone for an ambulance. Oh the stress! All I could think about now was how Mr M would have to be phoned. There would be an almighty panic. He'd have to get himself out to Kilsyth to come to see what was happening and he would never let me go out to play up Ben Ledi in the morning!
But along came the ambulance and two lovely paramedics who also agreed that I looked a little grim. A girl could get a bit of a complex you know!. To be fair to everyone telling me how bad I looked, I did have every possible sign and symptom you could list for somebody having a heart attack. However, the little machine they attached me to (after first ensuring that the lovely Kyle left the staff room of course, but allowing the newly arrived hyperventilating Mr M to stay) said otherwise. A little while later after giving me some of that lovely morphine stuff, the paramedics stuck the blue lights on their van and whisked me away to the Royal Infirmary.
There was no hanging around in casualty for me I can tell you. Straight into resus it was and the medics were waiting for me, whipping my clothes off and sticking things on me before I even got chance to apologise for my tatty old underwear! It seemed everyone was indeed a little concerned. I think I was a bit worried too to be honest. But whilst they were busy deciding how much more morphine I should be given and what to do next all the pain and other symptoms stopped. Yes, just like that. I sat up and told the amazed looking medics that I was ok now, but they thought I was just not wanting more morphine.
They all agreed though that yes, I did suddenly look much better so no more morphine for me. There was lots of head scratching, ums and ahhs and even more head scratching when my bloods came back showing raised troponins (a protein that's released into the bloodstream during a heart attack).
A bed was made for me in the cardiac ward and yes, you guessed it, no walking up Ben Ledi for me in the morning. So there I was, a girl feeling a bit fed up, wearing a hospital gown that fastens down the back, only to find that I was to spend the next few days in a ward with five men! Yes, five men. Well actually, as I was to find out over the next day, I only needed to be concerned for my modesty with four men, as one of the other patients was completely blind.
Sympathy was shown by one of the nurses though as she went away to find me another gown so that I could protect my modesty a little until Mr M was able to organise a supply of pyjamas and a fluffy dressing gown for me.
Anyway, to cut what's turning into a long story shorter, the consultants spent a couple of days doing more head scratching, umming and ahhing, re-investigating all the results from tests, tests and more tests carried out over the last 18 months to finally decided that I had not had a heart attack and, wait for it, nor was the event on Ben Lawers a heart attack. "Blooming heck!" I thought. "I'm going to have to re-write my book now!"
Between all the consultants they have now decided that I have developed a chronic condition, apparently common in us women of my age (which is of course 25!) called Coronary Vasospasm. Quite simply, my coronary artery goes into spasm giving the same effect as a heart attack. Oh, wait for this too. When I discussed with the consultant all these events occur when I'm at rest (even the mountain event as you remember), she confirmed that yes, this is when they will happen, not when I'm doing anything physical.
So I'm now at the stage where I am deemed fit to hike up and down mountains, bake and work but I'm a nervous wreck at the idea of having a lie down on the couch, standing around doing nothing or even going sleep in case this silly artery of mine decides to go into spasm again. But I'm on a new set of drugs now to try to prevent this happening again so let's see what happens shall we.
Of course to test out this theory that I'm all good to climb mountains I did take myself back up Ben Ledi on Sunday 2nd May just to be sure. Setting off from home at 6.00 am to ensure a spot in the tiny car park, I was away walking up the hill by 7.00 am. And what a glorious time I had too. The views were amazing and I felt brilliant. I was quite nervous about the whole thing but as I discussed with Mr M the night before, if I didn't get myself back out up the hills I was at high risk of developing a ridiculous fear of walking the high hills. By 3 pm I was back home, showered and being pampered by Mr M.
Meanwhile in the background to all this, I'd been worrying of the rapidly deteriorating health of my step-father, John, who had been in emergency care since just before Christmas due to sudden on-set dementia.
John became my step-father quite late in my life and I was already in my twenties with two children of my own. As John joined our family he inherited not only step-daughters but also some step-grandchildren. He took us all on without objecting.
Some of you may remember meeting John at the tearoom during some of his visits to stay with us over the last few years. John had been in the merchant navy most of his working life and spent most of that time as Chief Engineer. What tales and photos he shared with us of his amazing journeys around the world, including how he had to calculate the best way to get these enormous ships down the Suez Canal. I'm proud to say that boats he was in charge of never blocked that very narrow shipping canal!
I learned so much from John over the years including how to know where I was based on flashes of a lighthouse or the blasts of a fog horn. He also shared my love of maps and many an hour or two was passed with us looking at different maps - real paper ones of course, not the on-line versions.
John's condition had started to deteriorate at a rapid pace and on phone calls and video calls it was very obvious that he did not really know who I was. It was a very difficult situation with John in Hull, me up in Scotland and Covid raging the world making real communication impossible.
My plan was to forget all about the restrictions on border travel between England and Scotland as this was a special reason for breaking the rules and planned to travel to Hull on Thursday last week to see John before it was too late.
Fate had other ideas though. Tuesday teatime I received a call from the home saying that they felt Thursday would be too late and it would be better if I came tomorrow (Wednesday). That was a total shock to me and I dashed up to the trains station to get a reservation on the first train leaving Croy in the morning which, with a couple of changes on the way, would get me to Hull for 12.15 pm then a 10 minute taxi journey to the home.
It was obviously a bit of strange journey down on the trains with lots of thoughts going on. I had several phone calls from the home en-route asking of my progress so I knew time was of essence now.
Arriving at the home, I was met at the door and I knew instantly that I was too late. "He tried to wait for you but he just had to go", I was gently informed. I arrived at the home at 12.30 pm and John had died at 11.10 am.
So that was it. I was too late to see this fantastic man before he passed away. The home reassured me that he did know I was on my way and he smiled when they told him.
I sat alone for a while with John and had my goodbye chat with him and shed my lonely tears.
With all the relevant phone calls made I made my weary way back to Hull Station to get a ticket for a long return journey back to Scotland. But no, that wasn't going to happen. With Covid you had to have your seat booked in advance for the cross border train and there were no more seats left for the day but I could have one for the following day.
So I made the best of a bad situation, booked my train from for the following day and caught a train over to Halifax to stay with my daughter rather than spending a lonely night in a travel lodge in Hull city centre.
Now I'm back home with a funeral to arrange. Of course, I have the lovely Mr M and my children to support me during this so all will be well.
There will be tears and then there will be more tears. Indeed, at work today looking at the Father's Day cards and presents I shed a little tear at the realisation that I have no father and now no step-father to celebrate Father's Day with.
I know I'm not the only person in this situation and I think we all have to be a little nicer to everyone we meet. A smile and a gentle word could help somebody get through the next few minutes. Please, none of this, "smile, it might never happen" that I hear so many times. You really don't know what has happened to take somebody's smile away.
John had an incredibly sweet tooth and loved being able to sample all my cakes and bakes and try out new treats. So I'll get my apron on and get baking and wonder what he'd make of my new bakes. One of his favourite treats was a vanilla slice so perhaps I'll just have to get on and make some of these.
Meanwhile, thank you everyone for your kinds words (and your patience at having to wait for your cakes!). They really do make a difference.
John's favourite singer was Enya so the song for today's blog has to be "So I Could Find My Way", by Enya.
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I’m on countdown now to the 26th April when travel across Scotland is once again allowed so I can take myself and Beatrix (and her stones) up some different mountains. I have my eye on Ben Ledi of the Trossachs, so watch out for more tales and adventures. Even more exciting for me is that I have planned my first trip down to Halifax since September last year when little Harley was born. A whole week catching up on cuddles and hugs, especially from my children, Ben and Chloe and my grandchildren, Minnie and Harley. I’m sure a week will not be long enough!
So, what is Mother Murphy doing with her time at the moment I hear you all ask. Of course, I’m still baking and creating the lovely monthly cake boxes – April’s Drool Box is the current one. There is on-line promotion of my book in virtual events as I’ve not been able to do any “real” book signings yet.
I have to say though that all this virtual stuff has taken its toll on me and I was, along with the rest of the world, missing seeing real people. Now you can also find me working a few hours a week at my local Home Bargains Store. I’ve not progressed to working on the tills but I’m quickly becoming obsessed with creating neat and tidy shelves and dreaming about the different types of deodorants. Don’t worry though, when I do a shift, I’m often on the very early shift so back home before Mr M has finished his second pot of tea so there’s still plenty time in my days for baking, taste testing and more baking.
Then there’s my new book I’m working on. Well, it’s not actually me that’s writing the book. It’s Beatrix who is narrating the stories and I am just typing them up. It’s slow going at the moment as Beatrix does enjoy having plenty sleeps during the day snuggled up to the radiator. Yes, we still have our heating on up here in beautiful Scotland! I do hear her at night-time pacing the floor sometimes though and I’m guessing that she is getting all the stories ready in her head to spend some solid hours dictating them to me once we can get back out on the high hills and mountains again. That’s when we really do have our deep and meaningful chats.
Without wishing to create any debate or arguments here, I feel it would be amiss of me not to mention of course, the very sad news of the passing of His Royal Highness, Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. We, as you know, don’t have a TV at home so I was probably a little late to the game finding out the sad news, but still felt an enormous sadness at hearing this.
This morning I found myself still feeling a little out of sort with myself but as the birds were just starting to wake up, I set off with Beatrix for another hike over the Campsie Fells. As I drove away from my house, I switched on the radio, and as usual Radio 2 was playing away. I quickly realised it was a different radio programme to the usual Radio 2 and was simply a day of reflective, beautiful music in respect for Prince Philip. Just as I tuned in, the first song to be played was To Dance with My Father Once More by Luther Vandross.
Now you all know that I’m a tough Yorkshire bird and I don’t do that crying stuff. Today though, the beautiful lyrics of the song somehow hit hard with me. I felt my heart breaking that my own father was no longer here. I can’t remember living with my father as a youngster as my parents divorced when I was a toddler. Those who know me or have read my book will know that my Dad died in 2014 and it was a very difficult time for me for many reasons. I think it’s probably fair to say that I’ve not done the grieving I needed to do and have spend the time since he died wondering if my Dad loved me and whether I was a good daughter.
As Luther beautifully sang the lyrics of the song, my heart finally cracked, the tears began to pour down my face (not a pretty sight!) and I found myself wishing I could dance with my father once more to find out if he loved me.
Parking my car at the high car park on the Crow Road, I toyed with the idea of turning my car around and going home because I felt I’d be too sad to be on the hills and would just spend the day thinking about all the troubled memories I had. But Beatrix gave me that look that said, “It’s ok, I’m here. It’ll be ok”. So, I changed my shoes, fastened my walking boots and put on my gaiters (it’s a boggy walk up there you know!).
It was still early, probably not even 9.00 am, but the sun was shinning and the sky was clear blue, though it was decidedly chilly! Crossing over the main Crow Road, I was soon on the hills and able to let Beatrix off her lead and see what the day would bring.
“Ey up our Debra, do you remember ‘time you thought you’d be able to beat me at squash?” I had a quick look around but of course my Dad wasn’t there, but he was having this conversation me with. And I laughed.
I remember well the time I thought I’d be able to beat him at squash. Just to explain, my Dad was a fantastic squash player, albeit with a bit of a bear belly! Once I’d made contact with my Dad after many years not seeing him, we had lots to catch up on. By this time, I was perhaps 17-18 years of age. I was seriously into my racing cycling and as fit as a flea. I was also a bit of a dab hand at tennis. Maybe I got my competitive streak (yes, I have one!) from my Dad and we quickly got it sorted for him to take me for a game of squash. I’d never played before but decided that with my youth, my fitness and my ability to smash a ball with a strong left-handed forehand, I would be able to give this old man of mine a run for his money. I told myself that he might have the edge over me with his skill but my fitness would get the better of him. Bring it on Dad! Forty minutes later, I staggered off the squash court, dripping wet with sweat. My Dad had not even taken his tracksuit top off. Fitness beating skill? Never in a million years.
Over the next few years my Dad helped me to become a pretty decent squash player and I was proud of new my talent but I never ever beat him. So I smiled again to myself at the idea of my Dad talking to me but also the daft girl I was thinking I would ever beat him at squash.
And for the next hour or so as I climbed up the Campsie’s my Dad reminded me of all the different things we’d done together. There was the time after my humiliation at squash that I challenged him to a tennis match, which of course, I won. Then my Dad tried to get points back by thinking he could challenge me on the bike. Now I really laughed out loud. I remember so well not even worrying my Dad would be able to match me on the bike. For a start, he’d never manage the shoe plates or the little narrow saddle. But in the spirit or things, I took my bike up to his house in Bradshaw. He whipped the bike out of my hands and set off up the road. 5 minutes later he walked back down the road pushing my bike. “Ey our lass! I put me hands up there. I’ll not beat thee on that thing! How on earth you get you’re a*** on that thing I’ll never know”.
He reminded me of the fabulous wedding cake I’d made him when he got married again and the amazing father/daughter dance we had at my Dad’s wedding!
I remembered all the times he drove from Halifax to Skipton to catch up with me as I cycled so he could take me into a Café for a pot of tea and cake “to keep me going” on my cycle rides.
As I approached the summit cairn, I remembered one of the last afternoons I spent with my Dad at the side of Loch Lomond the year before he died. We already knew that he had the big C by then and he’d decided that he wanted to do something he’d never done before and that was to take a coach tour around Scotland. By some quirk of nature, he was booked to stay at the Tarbert Hotel on the edge of Loch Lomond where I was doing some work in my training and development days. It was a glorious day. We walked together from the hotel down to the edge of Loch Lomond and took in the views of the Ben across the Loch. We talked about Scotland, my life in Scotland and my dreams to open a tearoom. “You’ll do it our lass, I’m sure. It’ll appen when it’s time”, my Dad told me that day. He bought me the biggest ice cream from the ice cream stall and we sat in warm silence enjoying the moment.
Then I was back to reality and a realisation that I’d done all the climbing for the day and I was at the top of the hill. But the biggest realisation for me and yes, there were more tears, was that of course I knew my Dad loved me and today, I did indeed dance once more with my father.
I urge all you mums, dads, sons and daughters to tell the people who are important to you that you love them. Show them that you love them and make sure that when it’s time for you to leave them alone in this world, they will not feel alone because they will always feel your love.
And the song for this blog has to be of course, Dance with My Father Once More by Luther Vandross.
]]>My heart was broken as I saw my life time dream slipping away in front of my eyes. At the time we thought (hoped) that it would be just a matter of weeks before we would be open again. Who could have imagined the magnitude of this deadly pandemic that was working its way across the world.
It soon became clear that our tiny but perfect tearoom with just 16 seats would never be able to open again as the social distancing measures would make it financially impossible.
So here we are a year older and perhaps a littler wiser. I spent a few months sulking and generally mourning the tearoom but gradually I was able to put together a plan for a new chapter for Mother Murphy's.
With amazing help from East Dunbartonshire Business Gateway, I received guidance and support to develop an on-line business allowing me to continue to create magical cakes and bakes (all gluten and dairy free of course) to sent out to you at your homes.
I also used the time to finish my book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill - Recipes, Tales and Adventures. Never did I imagine I would have a virtual book launch but in November 2020 this happened with the support of Kim and Sinclair from IndieAuthorsWorld. I may have been disappointed that it was a virtual event but it did mean that some very dear people to me from all over the world were able to attend. It was like a Mother Murphy's Eurovision - Good evening Great Britain, France, Finland and Australia!
I said earlier that I was perhaps wiser now. What have I learned over this last year?
Probably the most obvious is that I have been incredibly lonely. Yes I'm fortunate that I have Beatrix the amazing Collie Dog (and Mr M of course!), but in one turn of a key I lost a whole tearoom family. At the tearoom, we never knew who was going to call in or what would happen during the day. For a year I have been able to predict how my day would pan out. Yes, there were some days that I didn't even get out of my pyjamas.
But I've learned what a zoom meeting is (which you can wear your pyjamas to anyway!). I know how many different types, styles, sizes and colours of cardboard boxes there are. I know what a heat sealer is and how use it without causing serious damage to myself (most of the time). I've learned how to develop an on-line Shopify site. I know many of the pitfalls of using courier services compared to using Royal Mail's Drop and Go service.
Most of all though I've learned that with that turn of a key I didn't loose a whole tearoom family. You're still there, still supporting us and reading my (often) mad posts on face book and Instagram. Yes, I even know how to Instagram now (but not TikTok!)
So for everyone who has liked a post, shared a post, bought cakes and goodies from our store, a massive thank you. For every single sale, I give a little dance in the kitchen (but I can tell you that no video evidence will ever be provided of me dancing!)
To everyone who has bought my book, I cannot thank you enough. When I was working with Kim from IndieAuthorsWorld she asked me what my hope was for my book. I replied that I'd be happy if I could sell at least one book to somebody who didn't know me. There's nobody more surprised than I am as to how many people have been prepared to spend their hard owned money on a book by an unknown author.
And for the coming year? If we could get Mother Murphy's known across the whole of the country that would be amazing. I will always be that same mad, left-handed Yorkshire girl but it would be fantastic if Mother Murphy's could become a household name. So I'd ask if you could share my posts, comment on my posts, tell people about my book and generally let everyone know about us. Facebook is a fickle thing and if you just read my posts, they will gradually disappear from your screen.
And my health? Yes, I'm doing amazingly well know. Once the borders are opened again and I can travel further afar than East Dunbartonshire, the hills and mountains will once again be tackled. Ben Lawers is calling to me.
Once again, thank you to every single person who has supported us and continue to support us. If I could hug you all, I would.
If you've read this, please leave a comment on the post so know who you are and what you are thinking.
Thank you and take care, Debra, Mr M and Beatrix x
Oh and finally, you have been warned. I'm already planning my long awaited trip down to Halifax to once again see my family. I have not seen my children, Ben and Chloe since September last year. And of course, there is little Minnie the Minx and Harley (who thinks Grandma is a screen saver). There will be photos upon photos of me and my amazing miracle grandchildren. I suppose I might take some of Ben and Chloe too!
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I don't have very many photos of the two walks but of course, another one of the perks of my job is that I always have cake to take with me. Friday I had Candy Road and today I had Fab Slice as my treat.
Our February Cupid Box is coming to an end tomorrow and Monday will see the start of our March Madness Box. Keep an eye out for this.
Meanwhile, if you want to read more stories, why not treat yourself to my book, The Magical Tearoom on the Hill. This could be described as a recipe book with tales and adventures or Tales and Adventures with Recipes, depending on your view point.
If you've enjoyed this blog, please feel free to leave a comment and share the blog link with your friends.
And the song for this blog? It has to be I love my dog by Cat Stevens.
Since then, I have made new friends (not because of that of course!), we have new followers on social media who may not have seen my last manifesto and times have changed a little.
I don't know about you, but Lockdown 397 is feeling quite tough so I thought it was time to publish my amended, equally serious, manifesto.
MOTHER MURPHY FOR PRIME MINISTER - MY MANIFESTO 2021
Did I tell you that I'm finding the current lockdown tough?
If you are feeling the same you can, of course, indulge yourself and get your hands on a copy of my new book, Magical Tearoom on the Hill or order a box of cakes (even better, you could order the book and the cakes at the same time so you can read all about the cakes as you eat them).
It's Mother's Day next month too so why not order an Mother's Day Afternoon Tea Box for that special lady (of course, the afternoon tea box may still be limited to those lucky people living in East Dunbartonshire unless travel restrictions are eased).
What are you doing to keep your chin up in this tough time. I am baking and eating cake (quality assurance purposes you understand!) and doing lots of crochet.
By the end of the lockdown I'm hoping to have lots of new cakes and to also have myself a coat crocheted in many colours. I can hear you singing now....she wore her coat......
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I don't know about anyone else, but I'm finding this second lockdown very tough. Those of you who know me will also know that I love to be walking the Scottish mountains or cycling the quiet, remote roads away from travel and people. Not that I love my own company of course, it's just that I enjoy the solitude, time to breath and time to think (and time to have deep conversations with Beatrix the Collie of course). But away from the solitude of the hills, I really am a people person. I enjoy meeting new people. I love making people laugh (hopefully) and making them feel special. I love listening to people's life stories and sharing experiences and adventures.
Social media has been a godsend over this year for many of us, but it's no longer cutting the mustard for me. I'm longing to be able to have a trip down to Halifax to see my son, Benjamin, and my daughter, Chloe, and her lovely family. Little Minnie will probably be still little Minnie when I see her as she is just such a tiny, but perfect miracle. Harley came along last September but I've not seen him physically since he was born. He probably thinks that Grandma is just a phone screen saver.
We all know that stress can affect us all in different ways. My stress is causing complete exhaustion. My long, high level walks on the hills are no more (not that we could anyway!) and I am finding that a walk on the canal is leaving me drained. I had a couple of weeks over Christmas and New Year when I was in and out of the Royal Infirmary and found after that I was content to simply lie on the couch and the black cloak of depression was creeping ever nearer, very happy to wrap around me and drag me down further.
Fortunately for me, I have the fabulous Mr M here who was able to recognise my downward spiral. So he dragged me from the couch (not physically of course), made me get out of my comfy new tartan pyjamas and join him for a short walk with him and Beatrix. Then the next day, he did the same.
It doesn't take long for the fresh air to start to do it's job. Within a couple of days I was back to looking at the Campsie hills and wishing I was out on them. Then I was back to taking Beatrix out for longer walks on the canal by myself. I was coming back.
I remembered a book we had read in our book club, Mother Murphy's Tearoom Book Club (now virtual of course), The Salt Path by Raynor Winn and her follow on book, The Wild Silence. In these books, Raynor and her husband, Moth, walk the 600+ miles of the South West Coastal Path and then a tough long distance trek in Finland despite Moth's illness and found that walking helped him. I decided that if he could do that, I could get myself walking again to fitness. I declared then that no matter what I was doing or how I was feeling I was going to make myself go for a walk every day.
At the end of last week, I went for a walk on the canal with Beatrix and I just kept walking. By the time I got back it had turned dark and Mr M was donning his own coat and boots to come and find me. Me and Beatrix were soaked (Beatrix not quite so much in her new coat) but between us we had really put the world to rights. We'd discussed how I was feeling. For some reason, I found myself watching Beatrix more closely that day and it suddenly dawned on me how tough life is as a Border Collie. I realised that even though my life was sometimes stressful I was still able to relax at home. Not so for a Collie. Beatrix is always on guard. Then it came to me what my next writing project would be. I was going to write about Beatrix's life but from Beatrix's point of view. Perhaps I could turn it into a book and call it "The Stress of Being a Collie Dog Living With Mother Murphy".
As you can see from the photo, Beatrix was guarding me from the first day she became part of our family.
I'm sure that I am not the only person who is feeling that the light has been turned out at the end of the tunnel, but we need to believe it will get brighter soon. We need to look at the positives even if they are tiny. The morning has arrived. The sun is shining. The rain is refreshingly cold on your face. The morning has arrived again. We need to talk to our partners, our wives, husbands, sons, daughters and friends and not be afraid to share our feelings. We need to look out for our partners, our wives, husbands, sons, daughters and friends and notice when they need that extra hug, that extra encouragement and that extra push. Often it's those you think are ok who are struggling too.
What do I have to look forward to then? Well, we have our holiday in Grasmere in Lake District in August. We should all be able to get the vaccine over the coming months. I'm doing a sewing project with Ben on Watsap to make a meditation cushion. I have lots of very serious discussions to be had with Minnie over facetime and Harley has lots of smiles to share with me until I came see them again. Chloe is planning my birthday party for October with a Beauty and the Beast Theme. Guess who I'm going dressed as? I'm working on a new throw for our bed - a large Granny square pattern that doesn't require a great deal of concentration. I now have a new book to write. I have mountains to climb (maybe not Everest yet). I've even got the idea in my head that I'm going to swim to France but might just start with some wild swimming in Rydal Water in August!
Of course, I am very lucky to have baking as my hobby. Baking soothes the heart too - putting all those ingredients together and watching as they are transformed into a scrummy delight to be enjoyed by anybody.
For this month, I called our cake box January Comfort Box because I think you can't beat a mix of cake and biscuits treats give you that warm feeling of being cuddled. It took me a little while to get this box ready this month because I was missing that vital ingredient in my bakes of love but I've found this again.
There are lots of other treats - Jam Gift Boxes, Teas and handmade crafts in the on-line store so take a look.
I'm planning our boxes for the months to come, so if you have any requests, let us know. Have you got a favourite cake I've not made yet. Do you want something from the previous boxes to come back? What else would you like us to start doing? Leave a comment after you've read the blog and share your suggestions.
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