Tell me a story ...

As you are walking down the road you see things that tell a story.

You know the sort of things I mean. For instance, today I passed a baby's shoe which had been placed on a piece of street furniture. The basic plot is quite simple – the toddler kicked it's shoe off without it's carer noticing. But there is so much more to it than that and so many stories that can be formed from the same clues.

The shoe was leather and reasonably large so I assume the child was in a forward facing buggy rather than a pram. It was brightly multicoloured, so it probably belonged to a girl and the parents are likely to have been middle-class, artistic people. So that begs the question, was it one of them in charge at the time or a nanny/child minder? And what about the child, was it having a tantrum or was it trying to quietly amuse itself, wriggling quietly as it's footwear slid to the floor?

My story is that a young girl was restless, being irritating but not naughty, causing her nanny to ignore her as they travelled down the street. Perhaps she was chatting with a friend. They must have been busy as they hadn't gone looking for it before a stranger retrieved it and placed it visibly on the telephone junction box. And it can't have been noticed quickly, or they would have seen it in clear view on the pavement and picked it up themselves. Tomorrow I will have to see if it's gone, spotted by retracing their route, but to be honest I doubt it.

But on Sunday I came across the oddest items I have ever seen, and I still can't piece together a convincing story. So I wonder, can you help me?

Let me start by setting the scene. I was taking a mid-morning walk along the Avon river where it flows through Southville. There are pavements on both sides of the river and a number of bridges crossing over, so it is easy to choose how far you want to go. I was on the north bank and had decided to follow the cycle route as it leaves the road and runs right beside the river. There is a slope dropping the level of the path and it was here that I saw the clues to my potential tale.

Draped over the railings was a pair of navy blue jogging trousers, placed there but not neatly folded. On the ground, to the right by about a foot, was a black nylon bag. It looked like it might have been a large camera bag or a small pannier. My memory is that it was about 12” by 8” by 10” but I couldn't be certain about that. I also couldn't be certain, but I think one of the zips was open, so the contents were likely to be wet.

On their own, these two items wouldn't have been enough to cause me to take particular notice. In fact, I walked past as I was looking at them and as a result I nearly ended up on my bottom. Because about 2 yards further on was a white plastic bag, as used in supermarkets to hold messy items. It had been sealed with red tape and contained, or had contained, 2 pork chops. These, however, had burst from the bag and were now lying on the path.

I was so surprised that I didn't stop and examine these items in detail, which in retrospect is a real shame. I carried on and tried to piece together why these things were where they were. I hadn't come to a conclusion by the time I reached home. And then the whole subject left my mind as I has to go out and life caught up with me for the rest of the day. In the last few days though, my mind has been puzzling over this strange collection of objects, trying to piece together a convincing narrative.

My first suggestion, perhaps triggered by my own state of mind, is that this was the sight of a suicide. That someone had removed their trousers and jumped into the cold, muddy, fast flowing river to drown themselves. But there are too many holes in this conclusion. There should have been a pair of shoes, since there was a pair of trousers. And why bother to take a camera bag with you to jump to your death? Of course, that doesn't even begin to consider the importance of the pork chops.

So a better story is required. In Bristol it is not uncommon for there to be criminals on the run. Sometimes they are trying to avoid arrest by the police, but all too often there are escapees from the local jail. So could this be an answer to the puzzle? The bag could have contained a change of clothes, so that once the prisoner had evaded the authorities in the first place they could alter their appearance and melt into the crowds of a Saturday night. This has much more going for it than the first idea but unfortunately I have still to address the meat. Why pork chops?

Perhaps I had actually stumbled across the answer indirectly in the last conjecture. Perhaps this was the detritus of an unsuccessful robbery. The bag would be to hold the loot and the pork chops might have been to quieten dogs on the grounds. That the meaty bribes were on the road would indicate the failure of the burglary. But why would there be a pair of jogging trousers placed over the railings?

I was driven to watch the local news on Monday morning, in case there was clue to my conundrum. I've even done a little searching on the web, since, to try to get answers, but have failed to find anything. The need to complete this story is now beginning to become obsessive. I need to know why these items were where they were. So if anyone can complete my story for me, will you let me know?

Are you OK?

Let it be said that I am not the most girly of people. As a child I never wanted to play house, I didn't read Bunty, my wardrobe was full of practical clothes and I didn't wear any make-up until I was fourteen.

As a result, as an adult I have never felt the need to open a women's lifestyle magazine. That was until last week. Then OK claimed to have an exclusive on Richard Hammond and given my obsession on all things Top Gear I felt motivated to buy a copy. I didn't expect much from it, but it might have a different story to tell. But, having bought it, I found many more pressing things to occupy my time than looking at a photo glossy.

So this evening I decided to tidy up the pile of magazines and found it waiting for me. How scary could it be? And it might distract me for few minutes. So I opened the covers. It fell open at the centre pages as there was a second, smaller, magazine stapled to it. What was that about? Printed on cheaper paper and in a slightly smaller format, it appeared to be a junior version of the real thing. And it made the body of the main event harder to read as you couldn't flick through it properly.

I began thumbing backward to get to the section I was interested in and found it almost immediately as it occupied 13 pages. I was excited, there should be something worthwhile here. The article started with a great double page photo of the family with an inset of Richard and Mindy. I have to say as an aside here that I am constantly amazed at her tolerance of the press intrusion into their life. I understand that a lot of Hamster's attraction involves his image as being part of a perfect family. But I also know that this is an image provided to the media; that they are normal humans with all the trials and tribulations us plebs suffer, aggravated by the pressure of fame. I take my hat off to her.

Anyway, I looked at the caption and was immediately gob-smacked. This was clearly not the magazine I thought I had bought. By some strange power it had been changed into a clothing catalogue. A couple of words described the picture – 5 lines of text described what they were wearing, where you could buy it and how much it cost. After a moments consideration, I realised that the outfits must have been provided for the photo shoot as advertising for the clothes companies. Well, perhaps that was what other people wanted, I could ignore it and read the main article.

It didn't take more than two paragraphs to realise that there would be no new insights here. To be fair the writing was adequate, probably better that mine, but I'm not a professional. However, set out normally it wouldn't even fit 2 of the pages dedicated to the item. And the Q&A format of the majority of the article just meant that the same ground was covered multiple times. So that's why these magazines are often called photo glossies – the pictures are the only reason for buying them. And I do have to say that the photos are impressive.

But then I was stupid enough to glance at the rest of it. I really couldn't bring myself to read any of it in detail. No wonder people's level of intelligence doesn't improve any more. They are asked to read gossip in language that wouldn't challenge a 12 year old and to glorify in the misery and suffering of others. They are given impossible personal images to try and live up to. They are told to aspire to material goods that are unnecessary and often beyond their means. The only two features that seemed reasonable were Rupert the Bear and the horoscopes; and I don't believe in Astrology.

So have I learned anything from this experience? Well, I doubt I shall ever bother to read another issue of such a magazine. I have also realised how far divorced my view of the world must be from the norm. I know celebrities are no different from run-of-the-mill people except for the amount of disposable income they have (it is the fame and money that sometimes corrupts them into divas). I believe that all people have a right to privacy except were the news directly affects other people. I hope that any entertainment I enjoy will not make my brain deteriorate, even if it doesn't necessarily make me better. I do not want to indulge my sense of schadenfeude or become envious of the life or property of others.

Anyone else thinking or reading War and Peace?

A day of opposites.

I was out walking today – yes, I know I do a lot of it – and I enjoyed one of the finest sights of nature and sadly saw one of the stupidities of mankind.

Lets start at the beginning. I was walking later in the day than normal and had decided to set out along the river, climb up to the suspension bridge and descend through the woods on the other side before returning home. Now for those of you unfortunate enough not to know Bristol and its environs, the river Avon flows out of Bristol down the Avon Gorge (odd that, isn't it?). The suspension bridge crosses the gorge from Clifton, which is full of beautiful old houses, to Leigh Woods, which apart from the actual woods themselves is sparsely populated with a mix of large, old houses and modern monstrosities. Perhaps the real difference between the two sides of the river is that there is a major road running along the river bank on the Clifton side, whereas there is a muddy foot and cycle path on the Leigh Woods side.

Now there are two obvious options for getting from the bottom to the top of the Gorge on the Clifton side. There is the ZigZag, a footpath which meanders up the side, or Bridge Valley Road, which is slightly less severe since it is designed for traffic but that has a footpath on one side. From town, choosing the latter option makes the walk slightly longer and so I headed for the slightly less pleasant climb. But using my eyes for the first time as crossed the road, I noticed a small flight of steps which climbed steeply up the hill. This seemed far more desirable than a car-fume choked road, so I started, very slowly, to ascend. The steps were clearly little used as they were covered in twigs and even the odd branch that had blown down but someone had been up there recently as some of them had been snapped. After a short while the steps ran out and a steep path took over.

About half way up the Gorge the path petered out, due to a lack of upkeep, but there was a muddy track that carried on up. Going back down seemed like a lot of work but I was uncertain whether the track would continue to the top. The lazy side of me won out, so I continued upwards through the trees. I emerged at the bottom of a small clearing and looked up, panting. There, crossing the glade and oblivious to me, despite the racquet I had been making, was a fox. He was so at home there amongst the trees on that steep slope that he felt safe and secure. A master of all he surveyed, occupying the wild spaces amongst our urban chaos. It is wonderful that nature finds a way to occupy the niches that we have created. We seem to destroy so much but nature will always survive, adapting to the new conditions.

When I reached Isambard's wonderful bridge the lights had just come on and for the first time I could see how the old light bulbs had been replaced. It is a glorious sight, Clifton Suspension Bridge at night. It reminded me of my student days when I would walk there and look out over the city. Unfortunately, these days they consider it necessary to have a high protective barrier so you can no longer rest your elbows on the parapet and look at the view for hours on end. But the view is still good, if a little obscured.

The walk to Nightingale Valley from the bridge is not very far, about 10 minutes for me, but by the time I got there it was definitely twilight. I did think twice about whether it was sane to start down a dark, muddy slope with rocks, tree roots and slippery, rough hewn steps covered in rotting leaves. But the alternative route home was boring and there seemed to be a reasonable amount of light, so long as I looked straight down. It was one of the most exhilarating but scary descents on my life. I slipped once, but ended up with nothing much worse than dirty trousers. I kept expecting the light to deteriorate but I could just about see all the way down, even though it was cloudy with no moonlight. As I emerged onto the riverside cycle path I could see why. The low cloud was trapping the city lights and reflected back to illuminate the view, as bright as a full moon.

Now I know that light pollution isn't devastating. In its own right it isn't going to cause global warning, aggravate asthma in children or poison the food chain. It might be my job that makes me sensitive to it, after all I work in the space industry. But I think I'd feel the same if I were a postman or a celebrity. Walking at night should mean being able to see the stars, or being in the dark on a heavily overcast night like tonight. And, in fact, generating light uses power, so if we are wasting that much light we are wasting a huge amount of energy too. So can I ask you to think twice about the number of lights you burn at night and to close your curtains to keep it in. And I'd like to ask any of you that read this to petition your local council to use directional street and decorative lighting, which is not only good for the environment but should also reduce you council tax over the long run.

The 13th day of Christmas

I can't believe that 12^th night is done and dusted and Christmas is over. I know that other people have been back at work for more than a week, but my husband has taken an extended holiday to use up his allowance. And with me off work and my daughter at home for three weeks from University, this was a wonderful time for renewing family connections.

In our house, Christmas is a strange mix of Christian festival, commercial excess and relaxing family get together. I'm old-fashioned enough to say that it doesn't start 'til Christmas eve and it ends at twelfth night. So we had a slow celebration, never too wild, but going on for a fortnight. The In-laws were down for a couple of days, which were most enjoyable (is it allowable to say I like my In-laws?) and just before the festivities I had a chance to visit my brother and his wife.

But twelfth night came and, although we didn't have a 12^th night party, we celebrated with champagne and a good meal. Then Karen had to return to her studies, so we spent a night in Southampton, which is always a nice change. Finally, the decorations had to come down and be packed away. The fallout still occupies much of the living room floor and tomorrow the OH goes back to work.

So Rob and I have spent this Sunday having a private day, doing things to treat ourselves without having to involve anyone else. Family time is important, but so is one-on-one time. Our choice of venue might seem strange to some, we went to Cardiff Bay, but it was perfect for us. The Red Dragon Centre hosts a Dr. Who exhibition as well as a casino, cinema and a huge number of eateries. So we had an all-you-can-eat Tunisian lunch and then saw Daleks, Cybermen, Sliveen and many other enemies of mankind. Just before sunset we wandered around the bay and saw the Millennium Centre, the Welsh Assembly and the location of Torchwood. Even the onset of heavy rain didn't damp our spirits.

Perhaps this makes us sad – that a perfect day out is quite such a childish adventure – but it was just the change of pace we needed. Any stresses and strains that had built up over the vacation disappeared in a gentle wave of excitement and hero worship. We even got to identify the exit to Torchwood, which is currently being “maintained” by the council. Having had time to share one of our passions, we are both now ready to leave the holiday behind and start the new year for real.

So I would like to wish you what I wish for all my family and friends. A happy, healthy, wealthy and peaceful New Year.