Bridie Jackson and the Arbour

We were sitting down to eat an enjoyable spaghetti in Gateshead, and had plunked on the new album by Bridie Jackson and the Arbour.

It's a beautiful album of chilled folkish tracks with very atmospheric vocals featuring haunting choral sounds ranging through to an altogether more robust acapella. It's a highly accomplished debut with a talented band playing a wide range of instruments. One of those albums that registers on the first listen and just begs to be played again straight away.

But I didn't have the album when I first heard it and subsequently downloaded it from Bridie's bandcamp site. I consequently had a fresh CD copy waiting for me when I returned home.

It turns out the recording was made at the Sage in Gateshead, close to where we were sitting, and the gig at the end of February is in The Central pub, which is about five short steps from where we were eating the spaghetti. Heck, we are probably the only people to have tested the 'take-away' beer in cartons from the Central, because it's so close and because you can.

But back to the music, here's a super fret-cam of Bridie playing guitar and singing 'Prolong':

And check out the album here:

the machines of loving grace sometimes get flat batteries

Back home today and wondering whether to abandon this week's 40 miles on the bike. Strictly speaking, the week ends tomorrow and this morning's total was zero miles. Most other weeks I have been well over my target (last week was around 76 miles) so I think I could miss a week without wrecking my aggregate numbers.

But it could be a slippery slope (pardon the weather related pun) so I decided instead to go for a spin. It's one of the occasions where my gadgetry could defeat my objective though. Both the bicycle head unit and the speed detector batteries appeared to be flat.

An advantage of a bike is that it's quick to be able to use, but I really did want the telemetry to operate as well. My recent exploits with a Windows PC were partly to provide a quick way to offload the bicycle metrics, from within the garage, as well as to be able to do some clever things with the GPS plots.

The bike and its speedo normally work fine, although the other telemetry can go a bit wrong, usually as a result of low batteries or sensors that I have accidentally kicked and which are therefore no longer aligned.

I'm sure they will get this stuff so that 'it just works', but at the moment it can all still be a little erratic.

Anyway, my false start clocked up 72 feet after about ten minutes of cycling. That was before I replaced the sensor battery. Undeterred, I then went on to cycle 26 miles, so if I can muster 14 more tomorrow then I will still be on track.

Missing an appointment on Mam Tor

Thursday became something of a car day, with the trip back from the North taking a significant slice of the daylight hours.

Last Saturday had been an easy journey north, partly because there were fewer commercial vehicles on the road.

By comparison, even the trip to get fuel took around 30 minutes. The forecourt was packed with cars and then even when I'd filled up, the car in front blocked me whilst the occupants decided to go on a shopping spree in the mini-mart.

Navigating out of the superstore completed the challenge. It had been built on a major thoroughfare, but the traffic lines backed onto the main road in both directions creating all manner of hold-ups.

It was one of this occasions when I found myself mentally composing one of those 'emails to the council' about the way a store had been situated in a manner that created major road disruption. But I soon snapped out of it.

Further into the journey we wanted to take a deliberate detour to look at some scenery. The Peak District won as a chosen route and spent a happy hour or so navigating through the twists and bumps of the area before, on Mam Tor, realising we would now be late for an appointment down south.

We decided that the view from the shivering mountain was worth the inconvenience.

i visit the house of the trembling madness

As well as Betty's, another interesting stop-off in York is the medieval hall which hides a secret pub called the House of the Trembling Madness. There is a sign on the downstairs shop window, but the place looks like a well-stocked off-licence and you have to walk through the shop to a set of stairs at the back.

At the top is a high ceilinged and beamed room as well as the tiny but creatively stocked bar. The oak beams are from ships that sailed over 800 years ago and the original building dates from 1180. There's a need for some ingenuity to get a seat in busy times, but its worth the jiggle to get snug and taste a beer or two and maybe one of the well-prepared dishes, which can include mushy peas and mash and perhaps some ghostly ingredients.

We stayed with the lower octane beers and under the counter scrumpy (although 5.5% was actually quite strong), but there's a range of Belgian monastery beers well into the 9% that would hasten me into the Confrerie van de Roze Olifant, were I to partake.

Beyond even that were a few ultra strong tipples like the 32% abv Tactical Nuclear Penguin which is probably best admired in the bottle.

got live, if you want it

Sometimes you'll be in a situation where there s conversation that you just wish it was possible to hit 'record' to capture all the ideas.

Not the full 30 minute blow-by-blow, but a much shorter segment usually, a two or three minute sound bite that really works and resonates.

I had one of those on Tuesday, when we were sitting in an Italian restaurant eating lunchtime ciabattas and savouring the charcoal flavours all the time in a conversation about 'the now'.

Including whether to write about things as they occur or to wait and reflect.

Rösti in Yorkshire

So, here we are in York.

Betty's for a fizzy early supper with the blend of Yorkshire and Switzerland.

I'll go for the Rösti (mit Bratchäs), but don't need the offered chutney. Raclette cheese on roughly grated potato works for me, even if there's arguments raging amongst others.

I know which side of the Rostigraben to stand, even in Valentine's Yorkshire.

in the future everyone will be private for 15 minutes

seen whilst walking in Ouseburn

humorous carnage in tyneside

We didn't need much of an excuse to visit the famous old Tyneside Cinema in the early part of an evening. Its down a side alley and holds its secrets to unfold as you walk into the small foyer but then discover the delights beyond.

Originally built in an art deco style by Dixon Scott, a true movie enthusiast, there's also an area dedicated to showing the evolution of the movies. And Dixon's nephews include both Ridley and Tony Scott so there's quite a lineage.

We were going to see the comedy of manners called 'Carnage', from Yasmina Reza's play 'God of Carnage' which has also been on in the West End.

It's a tightly wound piece, which Polanski pretty much 'filmed in a box'. When it starts you think two of the four main players are about to leave the apartment they are visiting. An hour and a half later you've seen them explore ever more spirited arguments, blended with middle class manners and sensibilities which are then progressively pared back.

There's not a dull moment, in this 'play on the big screen' and aside from the many humorous parts I also found it kind of exhausting baed upon the attitudes of the sparring families. The underpinning argument was about a playground tiff that ended in a blow and loose teeth. The adults did it with somehow more finesse, but similar outcomes.

Tyne

We picked a surprisingly quick route to the north east where we soon fell into a lively Italian restaurant to begin catching up on various events.

After London, it's as if all the bridges in central Newcastle have been somehow compressed together, along with the elevated scenery, all juxtaposed into a compact series of three dimensional puzzles.

This makes it a great city for walking, so except for the end of a long evening, when a taxi came in useful, the rest of the time has been on foot.

a pint of bitter in a thin glass

No prizes for guessing where we are bundling ourselves off to in a car this weekend.

Well, OK then - Newcastle and Gateshead.

We won't see Carter there, but I may just take the DVD.

midnight diamonds

It's way after midnight and too late to expect new tyre tracks in the fresh snow.

I've cleared the pans of courgettes, tomatoes and some kind of garlic kicker.

Nearby I hear an argument about money or alimony but doubt that George can beat Catherine.

There's red wine threatening me in the glass, but I've already decided clarity will assist the morning's early start.

I look back to the diamond glitter and wonder whether the route north will be clear in time.

another evening in town

A place near the main drag all lit in neon, with shadow glass and five types of chrome. Someone planned for us all to be here although sushi had given way to some kind of Chinese French. I'd got a spare seat next to me for a late arrival, so she'd be near the middle instead of out on the edges.

We'd already played out quite a few hands during the afternoon, so the permanent nighttime of the bar gave excuses to pretend leave the real business by the door.

Place some clarinet around the bass backbeat. Click a few fingers near the candles.

Not dark enough for some though; wearing shades to hide their expressions.