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Spoon Hoolie Lineup 2017




I was listening to a freakonomics episode about teaching in american schools , and a quote was mentioned in passing (I think by the founder of KIPP schools)

Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. – James Arthur Baldwin

I was running errands at the time, and it almost stopped me in my tracks.

It kicked off a whole train of thought, rethinking how much of a model I am to my son, in general terms. However, it also made me think about a specific area.

My son hates reading. He has Asperger’s and is very bright; his numeracy, comprehension and language skills are excellent. He struggles with reading and writing, and exhibits elements of dyslexia.

He knows in theory that my wife and I both like reading, but actually he rarely sees us do it. We never seem to manage to find the time to read for pleasure or self-education, but both of us were voracious readers before parenthood. Now, the only reading either of us do is in snatches on a phone or tablet, and it is rarely anything really worth reading. We have continued to acquire books at such a rate that we have many bookcases loaded with books, but they are just not getting read.

Referring back to James Arthur Baldwin, my son may well continue to resist what we say, but if he does not see us reading he can not emulate that later. It worries me a lot because my measure of an interesting and interested person is how much they read for interest.

This needs to change, and we are going to set aside at least a couple of times a week where the TV is off, and we both sit down with a physical book (not a device, even if it is emulating a kindle) and read for an hour.

It also kicked off a train of thought of what we need to do to refocus how we home educate, but that’s another post.

Wheat as intestinal scourer


A silly train of thought in the car (triggered by seeing a billboard for a “Weetabix on the go” drink), followed by a disastrous experience with some burgers (not rusk-free) this evening, led to this. Food should not make you crap blood.


Run/Walk along the River Dove


Last weekend, we were in Burton-on-Trent for a wedding. We were only attending the evening reception, so took the boys to Jangala soft play centre (recommended). Hannah suggested I take off for a little while and go for a walk, so I hopped in the car and drove around looking for somewhere to walk.

I parked up next to the River Dove and felt more like running than walking, despite the heat and just headed down-river until I ran out of time and had to head back. It was a pretty river, slowly meandering through fields, although the path, if there was an official one, was ill-defined and I was quite glad I chose to wear shoes and didn’t go barefoot.

Louth Canal Walk


This post has been sitting largely written, as a draft, since about last October!

While we were on holiday in Cleethorpes, I took off for my customary “alone time” barefoot walk. I’d had a look at the available options, and settled on a walk from Louth, along the Louth Canal to Tetney Lock, and then along the coast a little way to the Haven Holiday park.

Hannah and Oscar dropped me off in the centre of Louth, where I found a WHSmith and duly bought an OS map of the area. I didn’t expect navigation to be an issue, I just like having a map.

The trickiest part was figuring out how to get to the head of the canal. I got little help from the people I asked, most of whom hardly seemed to know there was a canal. I half-located myself on the map and headed for a thin blue line that looked like it hooked up with the canal, and after a bit of meandering through the streets of Louth, found myself in the car park of the Co-Operative supermarket with a small stream. So I followed it downstream.

It was hard to follow at times, but after a while I found myself at the beginning of the canal, where the stream is funnelled through a pipe, to trickle into the canal.


The stream that drains into the canal. The River Lud, according to Wikipedia


Louth River Head


Having grown up near the Grand Western Canal and lived near the waterways in Birmingham and Reading, all navigable to some extent, it was a little underwhelming. The Lough end of the canal is very shallow and, as I would discover, most of the locks are in a poor state. Parts of the canal would be a struggle to navigate in a kayak.

However, it made for a pretty place to walk, and I finally set off on the walk proper.

The metalled path was hard going to begin with, and the area felt quite urban, so I didn’t dawdle and began a cycle of alternately jogging and walking.


Rough stuff

IMG_20120911_124434 IMG_20120911_124757


Tilting Weir

Tilting Weir

Tilting Weir

Keddington Lock

Keddington Lock

The locks were pretty, but in poor condition for the most part. The Louth Navigation Trust has plans for restoration.

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

Willows Lock

There was a field with a bull and cows, which made me somewhat cautious. Being a country bumpkin, I’m not worried by cows, but have a healthy respect for bulls! Also, cows with calves are to be respected. I kept my distance and hastened on my way.



Having a hard time identifying some of the locks.

IMG_20120911_132312 IMG_20120911_132407 IMG_20120911_132416 IMG_20120911_132428

This fellow would have dearly loved to eat me, I think. I’ve rarely encountered such furious barking and snarling. I tried not to taunt him too much.




Being a canal, the terrain was flat and easy and I made decent progress. Jogging along for reasonable periods, walking when I wanted to enjoy the views, popping off the path to explore occasionally. I came across a few odd things…

A dead weasel, just lying on the tow path. No nearby road, no obvious cause of death.  A crow or similar had visited, however. Blech.

A dead weasel, just lying on the tow path. No nearby road, no obvious cause of death. A crow or similar had visited, however. Blech.

IMG_20120911_143525 IMG_20120911_143633

As I got closer to the coast, the canal became deeper and fuller, more plausibly canal-like, and the tang of salt on the air. There was debris on the tow-path, high up from the water where I assume it had been dredged, and large shell fish. I think they were freshwater mussels.



By the time I reached Tetney Lock I was tiring, and it was quite hot, so I stopped at the pub for a drink and some icecream. Some locals were quite perplexed that I had walked from Louth, with no shoes, but were friendly.

I had a dinner date with the family, back on the caravan site, so I pressed on towards the sea, following a footpath that should have taken me across the marshes so that I could join the beach.

Somehow, I went a bit wrong at the end of the canal.

Canal one side

Canal one side

"Estuary" on the other

“Estuary” on the other

I misinterpreted a path on the OS map and somehow ended up alongside a muddy creek. Being male, I wouldn’t go back until I’d gone far, far further down the wrong way than is rational. I kept thinking I’d be able to cut across back to the path, only to find myself on a narrow spit of land surrounded by mud and water. You can see from the embedded map further down the page just how far I went out of my way, and was just on the verge of panic as I wasn’t sure of the tides or whether they were a factor. Sanity ruled in the end, and I doubled back all the way to where I should have turned in the first place.

This doesn't look like much of a path.

This doesn’t look like much of a path.

This definitely doesn't look like a path. What to do? Press on!

This definitely doesn’t look like a path. What to do? Press on!

That looks familiar, I was here only a little while ago!

That looks familiar, I was here only a little while ago!

Finally, the sea!

Finally, the sea!

In the end, I got back in time to have dinner together. My feet had held up well, and the last section of the walk, along the edge of the sea, wading in the cold water to ease my muscles in feet and calves was blissful.

A good walk, but I’d recommend taking care to keep to the path near the coast.

Biking and Me


This is going to be a long, probably tedious, autobiographical post. I suspect nobody will read it.

I’m not sure when my interest in motorcycles started. Certainly I was interested that my cousin, Richard, had a bike that he rode around his parents field, and later others.

I first recall really getting interested in my mid-teens, when I started plotting how I would get a bike when I turned 16. I started to save the money I earned in the holidays and pocket money and dream about owning a bike. My mum wasn’t able to discourage me too much because I knew she had ridden a Honda C90 when she was younger.

I bought a few copies of Back Street Heroes and ogled over the custom bikes (the girls draped over them didn’t hurt, either). I read an opinion piece bemoaning the rise of young riders and wrote a letter describing how I yearned for the day  I turned 16 when I could finally ride. I received a letter from the magazine with a request from a girl named Rof (nickname for Ruth, if I remember correctly) to correspond. It’s a measure of my fantastic skills with girls that, when she requested a photo, I sent a passport-sized copy of my school photo, specs, centre parting and tie/blazer. I didn’t hear from her again. Crushing…

When the time finally arrived (a bit before I turned 16), I went to our local motorcycle dealer, Ron Edwards and agreed to buy a spiffy little motocross-style Yamaha DT 50 MX. If I remember right, it was an F-registered model, so 1989-ish. I think it cost me £575, which was all the money I had in the world. I never considered what I understood as a moped, a step-thru. I wanted a proper bike. This was before scooters (other than Vespa and Lambretta) were really popular with young males. I guess there’s something masculine about being astride something, rather than perched with your feet neatly together in the footwell, like nice girls do. Now, swarms of teenage boys whine about the place on nasty little scooters. I still wouldn’t consider riding one.

Yamaha DT 50 MX

Yamaha DT 50 MX

While I waited to be old enough to ride on the road, I would ride that thing up and down my parents garden, and along their drive. When my birthday finally arrived, my parents gift was to pay towards my tax, insurance and CBT.

The CBT was actually a lot of fun. Ron Edwards took my bike up to the training site on an old runway at Dunkeswell where we did the initial off-road training. Then the on-road portion took us through Honiton and the surrounding area.  At the end of the day, we all rode back towards Cullompton together before I peeled off and hacked across country back home.

Now, the thing about that bike, that I didn’t realise when I bought it, was that it had been fitted with an expanded front pipe, which derestricted it significantly so that it could just about top 50mph. At age 16, in the UK, you are limited to a 49cc vehicle with a top speed of 30mph. Doing 50mph felt like flying. The first chance I got, I filled up and headed off up to Exmoor, just bombing around the moors. I ended up at Tarr Steps, and then accidentally went offroad down a track.

I loved that bike. I had one minor tumble on it when I braked on wet leaves turning into my parents driveway. The front wheel went out from under me and I panicked when I couldn’t change gear afterwards. The gear shift had got slightly bent and caught on the engine case. I bent it straight with a claw hammer and replaced the snapped clutch lever.

I have never been very mechanically-minded. My Dad is not a tinkerer with cars and I didn’t know anybody else who did. Something about practical electrics makes my head spin. Having my own vehicle did make me more likely to tinker a little. I had some problems with the carbs, with water getting into them, and I bought the Haynes manual and did some fiddling with them before taking the bike back to the dealer to get it looked at. The only other thing I recall doing is that the speedo stopped working and I traced it to a knackered worm gear, which I somehow managed to replace myself. I also, for some unknown reason, deciding that the paint on the tank looked bad,  chose to do a half-arsed job of respraying it with a rattle can, leaving the decals intact. The result, naturally, looked much worse than before.

The end came when I was going around a roundabout and suddenly the front pipe blew out. The noise was incredible (to me). I don’t think I knew about gun gum at the time. It would probably have done the job. I replaced the front pipe with a pattern version and the magic was lost. Suddenly I was restricted to 30mph and it was unbelievably frustrating. I sold the bike to a kid for £425 and bought a guitar, an Epiphone SG in Cherry Red.

I never lost the desire to be a biker, though, and although I couldn’t afford to get a bigger bike, I still vaguely plotted about it. During my year out, between A-levels and starting university, I reasoned that if I took my full bike test then, by the time I was in a position to buy another bike, all restrictions would have been lifted (if you take your test under the age of 21, you have to do it on a 125cc bike and after passing you are (or were) limited to a particular power to weight ratio for 2 years). I spent a few days riding around Taunton in the pouring rain on a training course, before taking my test and passing first time (I already passed my driving test, also first time, earlier the same year).

That was the end of my biking for nearly 4 years! I still can’t quite believe that number. I finished my gap year, went away to university where I had no need for transport, changed courses and then spent an “industrial year” in Winchester working for IBM. It was at that point that I started to seriously think about biking again. My girlfriend and I were planning on moving in together in Birmingham while I finished my final year in Nottingham. The most sensible option for commuting seemed to be a bike, and with her encouragement I started looking at bigger, commuter bikes.

After doing some research, I settled on a Suzuki GS500. I had compared it to the available options (Honda CB500 etc) and had looked at what was available at the time. I found one on Auto Trader that was £1200 and included hard luggage and a sports fairing. I trundled out to look at it, breaking all the rules of inspecting a used bike, turning up when it was already dark and not having anybody with me etc. I had got there by a mixture of train and buses, and foot, getting horribly lost in the process.

Between agreeing to buy it, and actually collecting it, I travelled to Southampton for a 1-day “Back to Biking” course with Motag as it had been so long since I had last ridden anything, and I’d never ridden anything bigger than 125cc. I spent the morning riding a 125cc bike around, before graduating to a 400cc bike (I forget the model). It gave me a lot more confidence and was well worth it.

When I went to pick it up, I took (then girlfriend)  Hannah, despite never having taken a pillion before. I decided to avoid dual carriageways and motorways for that ride home to Winchester, and we got horribly lost again, ending up passing a sign for Reading and deciding “sod it, let’s go to your parents for the night”.

That was the first time I really felt like a biker. It was my, indeed our, only form of transport other than public transport. I rode it to work, I rode it up to Birmingham to see Hannah. When we moved in together in Birmingham I rode it to Nottingham for my lectures. We rode down to visit my parents in Devon, to Anglesey with tent and camping gear and to the New Forest for a mini-break. Hannah was obviously very comfortable with my riding as she would often fall asleep on the back. The first I would know was when her helmet would hit me in the back. Thankfully she nearly always stayed upright, although occasionally she would slump over to the side, triggering frantic poking in the leg from me.

I read Motorcycle Roadcraft: The Police Rider’s Handbook to Better Motorcycling at the time, which is highly recommended. It didn’t stop me getting complacent and having my first accident, however.

I was riding through Winchester and a car pulled out in front of me from a car park, from behind a car parked on the road. I failed to stop in time, glancing off the front of the car and ending up lying in the road with the bike on my leg. Somehow, both the bike and I escaped serious injury. Her fault, but I blamed myself for failing to observe the risk and slowing down. The policeman who interviewed me at the scene seemed to agree :-/

I also learned something about servicing, MOTs and big dealers. Here is a quote from my blog at the time of the bike’s first MOT:

On top of having my bike cover stolen, my worst fears over Storm’s service were confirmed. I rode down to Chichester, and was given a complete hunk of junk of a Honda CB500 to ride back. “It’s got some petrol in it, apparently”. I took that as “it’s not got much petrol in it” and went off, hoping to find a petol station fairly soon. Of course, nothing. I missed the only service station on the M27, foolishly, and ran out of fuel between Portsmouth and Southampton. Suffice to say that I had to make a red-faced call to the RAC.

I then got a phone call from the garage, saying that Storm’s forks are bent. Bad enough news in itself, but as they say “and there’s more”. They didn’t have the parts to fix it, and they couldn’t book me in for a month. They also quoted £750 just for the forks to be sorted. Ouch. I phoned up a more local Suzuki dealer, and they quoted pretty much the same. I was not in the best of moods by now. Anyhoo, I spent the rest of the day alternately sweating, feeling sick, and phoning other alternatives. I finally found a small local garage who basically said “how much?!”. Which made me feel better. I’ve taken Storm there, and they reckon the forks can be straightened, rather than replaced. Phew. I still got stiffed for £120 for a change of oil and spark-plugs, though. I’ll be avoiding the big dealers in future. Stick to the small, independent garages.

The upshot of that was that the small garage had the forks rolled straight, new rear tyre, front disk, service and MOT for £280. Lesson learned.

My Suzuki GS500, “Storm”, parked up on the seafront at Budleigh Salterton.

Me warming up with the contents of a thermos on the seafront at Budleigh, bike in the background.

Parked up at a campsite on Anglesey.

My experience of motorcylce mechanics was elementary, and illustrated by my attempt to change the oil filter. The filter was retained by a faceplace with studs and nuts. I failed to replace the o-ring, and when I added the new oil it started to leak. In my naivety, I tried tweaking the nuts tighter, shearing off one of the studs. There was no bike shop anywhere nearby, but thankfully a scooter dealer not far away agreed to take a look and was able to sort it out for me after I pushed it there. Dodgy studs has been a recurring theme, unfortunately.

The time came to “upgrade” to a car, and I sold the Suzuki.

My reintroduction to biking came with the need to commute daily from Reading to Farnborough. The traffic was extremely painful by car, and a bike seemed like a better idea. Funds were extremely limited so, scouring the local ads, I found a Kawasaki GT550 for sale. I duly went to see it, rode it a short distance and bought it.

That bike served me well. It had a surprising turn of speed, and I loved the fact that it had a shaft drive and I didn’t have to mess around with chain lube. It was a real workhorse, which I believe they are known for. It got superficially smashed up when I braked on ice at the bottom of a hill, the headlamp cowl mostly. Essentially, I rode it into the ground, to the point it became unviable to get everything fixed and I sold it for parts/repair on ebay.

Kawasaki GT550

Kawasaki GT550

To replace the GT550, I bought another Kawasaki. Not quite so practical. A 1985 Kawasaki EN450 LTD.

Kawasaki EN450 LTD

Kawasaki EN450 LTD

It’s a crazy little belt-driven, cruiser-styled thing that has insane acceleration for its size and age. I used it to commute until I changed jobs and no longer needed it. It was becoming harder and harder to start, and sat unused for over a year when it plain refused to start. I had it looked at by a local garage, and they got it starting. I planned to ride it to Wales for our family holiday and had it idling on the drive while I suited up, when it suddenly cut out, having lost all electrics. One time, the dash lit up again after turning the handlebars, but nothing since. I have now decided to make it a project bike and am in the middle of a complete teardown to get it into the shed. In the meantime, I have bought a full-power 1991 Yamaha V-Max from a friend, which we are wrestling with to get the old exhaust off (more broken studs) and get it MOT-ready. This has become a saga in its own right, and will be the subject of a post of its own.

Yamaha V-Max Yamaha V-Max

Review of 2012



Drawing: 2012/12/28


Day 2:

An abortive attempt at copying a butterfly from a book of insects, and an even worse attempt at a grasshopper. The proportions were all wrong (actually, they were wrong on the butterfly, but not as badly)


Slightly better attempt at the grasshopper, a Lego Ninjago figure belonging to my son, and a couple of christmas decorations (a dove and a star).


Drawing: 2012/12/27


Last month, my sister wrote a blog post about being “able” to draw.

I come from a family of artists on my Dad’s side. He was a graphic designer and book illustrator and both his brothers have been involved in painting or book illustration at times. Both my paternal grandparents were illustrators (my grandfather illustrated the 1976 Guinness Book of World Records and posters for Oliver):

Elsie Wrigley

Denis Wrigley

My sister has artistic aptitude, as you can see from her blog and galleries and is working on illustrating children’s books. I, however, have always been the “science-y” one. Drawing has never come easily to me. Proportions are wrong, and I lose patience and interest quickly.

Reading Susie’s post, though, inspired me to try again. I bought myself a sketch pad and some pencils and a cheap netbook case to keep them in, and I am trying to draw something every day. To keep me at it, I’m going to post it all here, however crap it is. I’m hoping that by simply getting something down on paper most days, I’ll start to improve or at least find a style of my own that doesn’t look too awful.

Here’s my first drawing. Just a collection of things lying around the living room at Christmas.


Somebody That I Used To Know – Gotye


I’m currently loving this song


The cover by Walk Off The Earth is also brilliant, both because of the coolness of 5 people playing one guitar (gimmick, but cool) and the quality of the cover:

Gotye has done some great songs. It’s the first album I’m actually going to buy
in ages. There are songs that sound a lot like Radiohead, at least one where I forgot what I was listening to and thought I was listening to Muse (I shuffle my music collection a lot) and others with a style all his own. Nice, mellow stuff.