Last weekend M and I did another section of the London LOOP, a long walk which circumnavigates the capital. Like the Capital Ring before it, it’s become something we do on a random weekend when we realise we have nothing better to do and the weather looks good. As such, this latest section was our first since April. We are by no means hurrying it.
Anyway, the end of section 15 and all of section 16 took us from Stanmore (the end of the Jubilee line) to Cockfosters (the end of the Piccadilly line), with a surprising amount of beautiful countryside, pristine woodland and interesting architecture.
Having only ever associated the likes of Stanmore and Cockfosters with being wedged onto a hot tube train and hearing the final destination mentioned, it was a big surprise to see what those places actually look like.
Naturally, the actual terminus is on a busy thoroughfare, but for Cockfosters in particular, we approached it up a lovely linear parkland with views back to the city, through a quaint little village lined with interesting buildings, then passed through a kilometre or two of pretty woodland flanked by a golf course and private roads. It was not at all what we expected, and therein lies the repeating appeal of the London LOOP, and – to a slightly lesser extent – the Capital Ring.
We were caught out by the length of the daylight – which is funny as we were aware that the clocks go back next week and didn’t anticipate any issues on this walk. But by the time we entered the final stretch of woodland, darkness was setting in and the few faces we passed were difficult to make out. It was wonderfully quiet for this stretch, and although we knew from the map that we were skirting the edge of a relatively thin stretch of woodland, it wasn’t hard to imagine the slow envelopment of foliage around us taking the form of a much larger forest. And then – joy of joys, and only minutes after one of us mentioned the potential for it – we heard an owl. Not bad for a day walk reached by tube train.
We covered a distance of just over 30km and obviously took pictures all the way round. I was using a mix of my dSLR and my phone, and I was using my phone (a Motorola G7 Power) to take a few snapshots, as well as for Strava and a some checking of OS Maps.
I’ve prattled on about this phone’s battery life before, but let me tell you – when I finish a day like that with that intensity of phone usage and I still have half my battery life remaining, I continue to be astounded by the performance of this phone. It’s a small thing, but it makes a big difference to relying on it for full-day (or even multi-day) exercises.
Hey, I finished a computer game! That only happens like once a year or so.
I’ve had Steamworld Dig on my 2Ds for a few years now, I think*, and for a while I just chipped away at it. It’s the kind of game that you can just pick up and bash through a bit of here and there.
* Just checked and I purchased the game in June 2017
The problem is, there’s also a nice, steady levelling up and learning curve of sorts, and the game really rewards playing it in longer periods – or many short periods in quick succession. Mainly I was leaving the sessions too few and far between that I’d pick it up, move the characted round for a bit and ask myself “right, what am I meant to be doing again?”
This time I started a new savegame, and managed to bash through the whole thing in something like 8.5 hours. A decent length. A similar length, in fact, to two other games I’ve actually gotten round to completing – Attack of the Friday Monsters (also on 2/3DS) and Firewatch (on PC, and a game that spawned in me an obsession with fire lookout towers). Anything longer than that and I might not bother. Apart from Zelda: Breath of the Wild, of course, which I am currently 60 or so hours into and never want to end.
Steamworld Dig is made with so much charm that in many ways I also didn’t want it to stop. I had to do a bit of Googling to check if the levels were static or procedurally/randomly generated – if so, the game would be effectively infinite, but I suppose might have introduced game-breaking conditions unless very carefully designed. And so, very carefully designed it was, and all the better for it.
The artwork is lovely, the soundtrack, though slightly repetitive, is wonderful, and the effects are perfect. It rewards playing with headphones. The graphics, incidentally, work well on various systems. The screenshots here are from either PC or games consoles I think. The 2/3DS version, despite much lower resolution, retains the charm, but benefits from the second screen which displays a minimap and the contents of your satchel.
The game’s design in terms of the various teleporting, levelling up and general progression are handled in such a way that it feels slick and enjoyable. It makes it a great game to chuck in your bag and pull out on the bus for a few minutes. The player is never left frustrated at something taking too long – any actual tension or frustration is purely from the game’s tricky puzzles, none of which are particularly difficult.
Even the final boss is enjoyable in its systematic nature and although it’s tricky and took me a few goes, I managed it in one sitting – in the bath, no less – and felt a great sense of elation upon completing it. Pride and relief, partly, but also the satisfaction at having beaten a boss that felt challenging but in an understandable and fair way.
And so, the game ended, the narrative hinted at a sequel which I am very happy to have already downloaded and am keen to begin, and the credits rolled. And I was able to enjoy the satisfaction at completing what was already a very satisfying game.
It’s September. There’s a chill in the air, but the sun is still shining. Autumn is coming. Which is fine! I’ve had a good summer, with plenty of days out walking, cycling or (sometimes) running, and a good number of nights in rented cottages, AirBnBs or in a tent. But the transition periods between seasons can be great if only because they’re tangible and visceral.
When September hits – and with a partner who teaches, this is a more pronounced sensation – it feels like there should be time to wrap up summer thoughts, as though there’s a sudden overnight flip, new-year-style. And there can be, I suppose, but really it feels like there should suddenly be extra time in the evenings to edit photographs and reflect and maybe write about adventures. But perhaps I’m being premature – maybe I need to wait till the clocks go back (railway tracks!) and do all that stuff then? Memories will have faded some more, but if it means a nice photobook (or magazine?) turns up some time in late autumn or actualy winter, that might be no bad thing. Just as long as it turns up at all.
I’m reading a bit more at the moment – as in books (I generally read articles and tabs I’ve sent to my Kindle, but books less frequently) – and I feel like later this year I might finally tackle the Flying Nun book Roger Shepherd wrote a few years back. I’ve had it for nearly two years now, a much-asked-for Christmas present that I’ve still not started!
I keep thinking autumn/winter is the right time to read the book (and bathe in that music) because often when I listen to NZ music from that era I think of grey, dreary Dunedin/Christchurch streets and drafty flats and cosy student radio station studios and curly hair and wooly jumpers and four track tape recorders and touring in a shit van and all this stuff. And so I end up with this temporal inversion where I associate NZ music with that wintry vibe, and yet I need to experience it when I myself am experiencing winter – which is, of course, when NZ is experiencing its summer.
The change in the seasons is often – or was more often, a few years ago – the time I’d choose to tune into 95bFM (Auckland) or Radio One (Dunedin) to get a sense of life there, such as it’s possible to do so. I’d love, on a grey winter’s evening in the UK, to hear the next morning’s breakfast show where they chat about the decent weather, the surf report, or what bands were touring NZ – the excitement of a big ticket band who only comes to NZ once a decade, or some local heroes doing yet another thirteen-date tour playing basically every town big enough to sustain a venue.
Conversely, I also liked now and then to tune in to a mid-winter broadcast while the sun shines here, as I often associate those wintry times (as above) with where all the great NZ indie music comes from – the somewhat romantic image of a band or musician holed up against the cold, writing and recording, with some new stuff to debut when the sun finally comes out again.
In the meantime, I’m rattling through Sylvain Tesson’s Consolations of the Forest, which has landed on my Kindle through a happy accident of reading American nature writing with a focus on national parks, fire towers and so on, as well as John Lewis-Stempel’s lovely The Wood.
Tesson’s book is sometimes an amalgamation of those books, and it’s always nice when a book just sort of slots in neatly like that. I guess that’s why I always have about a hundred books I want to read, so that when the mood takes me I can dip into ‘the right one’ and follow the wave a bit further. It’s also written as a sort of diary crossed with a commonplace book (much like Lewis-Stempel’s), which obviously appeals to me.
On a related note, I had the joy of visiting Barter Books in Alnwick this summer. It’s a huge second hand bookshop – possibly the largest in the country? – housed in an old railway station. It also has a very decent cafe and food, and plenty of places to sit amongst the stacks. And model railway trains rolling round some ceiling-mounted tracks.
It’s a treat.
It also has lots and lots of books, and they all tend to be quite nice copies, rather than just stuff shovelled onto the shelves. I looked forward to the prospect of searching through the shelves, which are pretty well sorted by subject, but was pleased – initially – to find they have an online catalogue.
On the one hand this was great as when one has only a short time to visit a shop like this, it’s good to search for a few of those hard-to-find items.
But on the other hand, it removes some of the joy of searching through the stacks. But it’s still worth doing that because you’re bound to discover something you didn’t know you were looking for. So actually I suppose it’s the best of both worlds.
I ended up buying one book which was sort of on the periphery of my American nature writing / national parks reading list.
Wade worked with Raymond Unwin and Barry Parker to design some of the Suburb’s most significant buildings, including the Great Wall which seperates ‘town’ and ‘country’ where the Suburb meets Hampstead Heath, and the Club House with its great tower, sadly lost to bombing in the Second World War.
Charles Wade’s career as an architect was, however, short lived.
He is now best known for his collection of interesting objects that fill Snowshill Manor, a National Trust property. But as well as collecting items of beauty and great craftsmanship, Wade was himself a highly skilled craftsfman, artist, illustrator and draughtsman.
Three years ago, along with the publication of my book, I led a walking tour around Hampstead Garden Suburb in an attempt to cover Charles Paget Wade’s early life as an architect and his work on Hampstead Garden Suburb.
Fast forward to this summer and I was bitten by the bug to refresh my book with a new, expanded edition containing some more details I had come across in the meantime. I was also invited by the Proms at St Jude’s team to do another walk on Wade, and this inevitably led to me finding myself immersed in his life work once more.
There are a few other books about Charles Wade which cover the subject of his restoration of, and the collection held at, Snowshill Manor, but my intention has always been to shed a little bit more light on Wade’s life before Snowshill: touching on his childhood, his education and qualification as an architect, and his life in Hampstead Garden Suburb both professional and social.
In particular, I have always found it so interesting that despite only working on Suburb architecture for four years, he actually lived on the Suburb for more than ten years. And a number of the hobbies he picked up and nurtured while living on the Suburb would serve as an introduction to the magical world he would go on to create at Snowshill.
I had always wanted to expand on the text of my book on Wade, and to slightly alter the format of the paperback, and I am thrilled to have the use of a photograph from the collection of the Hampstead Garden Suburb Archives Trust which I think makes for a great cover image for this new, expanded edition.
In the process of researching this second edition, I visited Gloucestershire Archives again, as well as paying a couple more visits to the London Metropolitan Archives, which meant I was able to breathe some more life into the descriptions of the documents held there and to better decipher the clues they gave me about the man himself.
The staff at both these institutions were very obliging, and I must thank those at Gloucestershire Archives particularly for their assistance in identifying which packs and bundles of documents contained what items. It can be quite nerve-wracking only giving yourself a few hours at an archive to pore over hundreds of documents, but their help and assistance meant I got through everything I hoped to see with no added time pressures.
I’m also grateful to the curators of the RIBA’s Drawing and Archives Collection, and in particular to Lauren Alderton who kindly helped me get access to Wade’s RIBA nomination papers, as well as those of his mentors, which filled in some interesting and crucial biographical gaps about his transition from student to qualified architect.
I should also thank my partner Megan for putting up with me, particularly over the last few months, wittering on about Wade, my walking tour, and this book. It’s nice to have finally finished it.
It was always going to be tricky going in and expanding a ‘finished’ text, in much the same way as a first draft being much easier to bash out than to go back and edit. I had to pick apart my original text and insert new sections and details in a way which, I hope, is seemless to the reader. But I had been itching to add new details which had come to light in my studies of Wade and his career and life, so I knew I would have to scratch that itch and finally produce a new second edition. So that’s what I have done.
I do wish it was even easier to take screenshots on the Wii U, but here we are.
My love for THE LEGEND OF ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD continues in leaps and bounds, and I recently found myself on a quest chain reaction which began when I noticed a far-off island which I had tried and failed to paraglide over to from a high cliff. (Paragliding takes stamina, which regenerates over time and has a limit which can be incrementally increased.) Because the distance was too far to do it in one go*, I decided I must cook some meals with ingredients that give stamina boosts.
* This, in a nutshell, is BOTW’s very subtle and very clever system of ‘blocking off’ certain areas – it doesn’t actually block you from doing anything, really – you can just tackle any terrain or monsters with whatever you have on hand before figuring out for yourself that to do it properly you’ll need more of X or Y.
So I went off to do some cooking, and I specifically looked for ingredients on my way that would give me stamina boosts. This probably in turn led me to spotting something else and going off to investigate that, and maybe chatting to a NPC who gave me a side quest that I may or may not choose to follow and HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE GAME ISN’T IT? THIS IS WHAT I’VE SPENT ABOUT FIFTY HOURS OR SO DOING ALREADY.
And golly, I love it.
So, I found some stamina-boosting ingredients, I cooked some meals, and I headed back up to the clifftop. It was a bright sunny morning (I had initially arrived early evening, pissing down with rain – I couldn’t even light a fire – so I went to a nearby hostelry to get a bed for the night) and things were looking good.
So I leapt off the cliff and glided down to the distant island. As expected, I needed a stamina boost as I got closer, so I had a mid-flight snack (Link is so good at multi-tasking) and carried on. As I got closer to the coast I saw an orb receptacle thing – a round, metal platform – much like one that I’d recently interacted with on another task. In that task, my duty had been to land on it with my paraglider, so I re-routed for the platform instead of the beach and oh shit I ran out of stamina because I got distracted on my approach.
When you run out of stamina while gliding, your glider basically stops working. This means you plummet through the air from whatever height you were gliding at. If you’re lucky, this is onto dry land at a height from which Link can merely dust himself off and carry on his merry, elfy way.
If you’re not so lucky, it’s either too big a drop to the ground below (insta-death), or you might fall onto water – but swimming also requires stamina, so if you land in water with no stamina? Oh you’d better believe that’s a drowning.
So, of course, I died and was placed back on my clifftop launchpad and I tried again, scoffing my handily-replenished stamina-boosting snack en route. This time I managed to land on the orb platform but was disappointed to find it did nothing special. This was annoying, as I’d seen others around and about and presumed, having successfully completed the aforementioned task of gliding onto a different one, that this was all you had to do on them. As it transpires, it seems they all have different requirements.
So I landed in an incredibly beautiful paradise called EVENTIDE ISLAND. Quickly, however, some text appeared onscreen akin to the text you see when entering shrines. This island isn’t just a pretty place to explore, it’s a shrine/dungeon/level that requires beating.
And what’s this? As part of the challenge, Link is stripped of all his items. Everything. The screen fades to black and Link reappears in his pants on the beach with nothing in his inventory. Rather than disappointed, I was excited. What a cool concept! You’re promised all your belongings back once this task is completed, but for now you’re back to square one. The game has spent X hours teaching the player how to interact with the environment and objects, and you are temporarily stripped back, at least conceptually, to the start of the game except now I know what the fuck I’m doing.
So I gleefully began to start collecting crabs and tree branches and plants and other bits and bobs that might come in handy, and even as I came across my first moblin camp, I had an air of confidence about my actions that this island was just gearing up to knock out of me.
I successfully completed the first of three challenges on the island and thought I had the measure of the task ahead of me. But when I began the second challenge, I very quickly died. Normally when you die in BOTW, you restart nearby and you crack on, perhaps with a different strategy. But reader, I did not re-start on the island with my little knapsack of crabs and tree branches (not to mention the weapons and body parts I’d recently looted off the moblins’ still-warm corpses)…
No, I restarted on that blustery, sunny clifftop once again, my work thus far for nought, the clock wound back to when I’d last been there, the meal I’d scoffed for extra stamina on the way over magically restored in my inventory, and the morning light still highlighting that temptress of an island in the distance, although it had less of a paradisaical look about it now that I knew what was in store.
I let this setback sink in for a second… And then I leapt off the cliff with my paraglider and of course gave it another bash.