If you were to ask me who my hero is, one of the first people I would think of is my brother Rob. At school he was as good as written off by his teachers, he's dyslexic but back then too many teachers equated that with laziness and I suspect there were several who failed to spot his potential. Comparing our school reports is telling, I am frequently described as "hardworking"or "conscientious" and only criticised for being too quiet and failing to "add to class discussions." Rob's reports tell of "silliness", "untidiness" and "being easily distracted."
Despite not getting the support he should have been given at school Rob was always single-minded in his wish to work with young people. Over time he had many jobs, sometimes with youngsters, often not. For a while he worked with homeless adults, supporting the people that society most abhors but that drive to help vulnerable teenagers never left him and through hard work and determination he eventually achieved his goal and found a job with St Christopher's Fellowship in London. He is now their New Business Development Manager so clearly his dedication is finally being recognised.
The sort of young person St Christopher's helps is often not the type certain sections of the media look kindly upon. They've been involved with drugs, been part of gangs, are often seen as little more than "hoodies with asbos." People who work for St Christopher's though see something different; the child who has been abused at home, the teen who can see no future beyond gang life because nobody has ever told them otherwise, the youngster who has fled to this country in fear of their life. These are children who have never climbed a tree, who are scared to try something new because they've never had anybody invest belief in them, who use bravado to disguise the fact they don't think they're worth bothering with.
St Christopher's tells them they do matter, they can be more and if they're willing to apply themselves and to work hard then they will receive the advice and support they need. They are given hope and learn to believe in themselves. If you can spare a few minutes please watch this video in which young people helped by St Christopher's talk of their journey towards independence. You might also like (please) to check out their website to find out more about their work and their aims. And if you should ever find yourself in a position where you would like to fundraise or donate money to a good cause please consider helping out St Christopher's. The kids helped might often appear difficult to love and may not have the aww factor of retired donkeys but many of them have so much potential and at St Christopher's there are people like my brother who can help them achieve it.
Monday, 17 June 2013
Friday, 7 June 2013
Weird fears
We had a bit of a spider incident this morning. As I stumbled out of bed I was met by the demand, "there's a humungous spider in the bath, can you get it out please." Now I'm not scared of spiders, in fact I like them and so it's not a big deal for me to remove them. It was a pretty big specimen, the sort that you can really feel in the palm of your hand. I picked it up and carried it gently to the garden, as always feeling slightly smug and hopeful my calm demeanor will eventually rub off on my arachnophobe daughters.
Today though was probably not the day for that. As I went to throw it on the grass it shot up my arm, over my shoulder and disappeared. I asked Connie if she could see it but she refused to come anywhere near me so I had to come back into the house to check in the mirror. Meanwhile Lorna and Connie were looking on horrified and calling out useful tips such as "get away from me" and " you're not going anywhere near my room!" Eventually I located it on my back - only for it to run up into my hair. At this point the girls demanded I go back outside, "and don't come back in till it's gone." I made like I was in a mosh pit and shook my head wildly. There was no sign of the spider. I'm hoping it came out when I was head banging, otherwise I have a new pet - living in my hair!
Anyway after the drama and with the children at school I started thinking about phobias. It always surprises me that they are scared of spiders given neither me nor their dad is remotely bothered by our arachnid friends. In fact as a child I would collect any I found around the house, stand on my cabin bed and put them on my ceiling. I do realise this isn't usual behaviour but nevertheless with such a relaxed attitude I do have to confess to finding it frustrating that all three have developed this fear. There is a small part of me itching to tell them to get over it and that spiders won't hurt them, but then I remember I'm not averse to one or two irrational fears/phobias myself. So in ascending order of my wussiness, here are my main fears
4. Small spaces. I know claustrophobia is common but my version is quite particular. I'm fine with lifts and aeroplanes for instance but don't like situations where I have to crawl into a small space and exit backwards. As I'm not a potholer this means what I'm actually afraid of is cleaning under the bunk beds. Every so often I have to sort out the mess that seems to accrue under there - soft toys, odd socks, puzzle pieces, Lego bricks - you know the drill. When this job needs doing I have to psyche myself up to crawl underneath the bed, then I grab as many items as I can in about two minutes before backing out quickly to steady my nerves before taking a deep breath ready to go back under for another go.
3. Dropping things from a height. I don't mind being high, as a child I loved climbing and abseiling on school trips. However, I really don't enjoy looking over say bridges or boats because I'm afraid I might drop something. My family never fail to laugh at me as I go through the routine of checking my rings, watch, camera, bag etc any time I've not been able to avoid a situation where something could conceivably fall away from me. In all honesty I'd probably be happier naked! Similarly I also have to check my rings every time I post a letter.
2. Helicopters. I blame this fear on ER and the fate of Dr Romano. I really dislike looking at helicopters flying and imagine them bursting into flames before my eyes. The thought of ever having to go on a helicopter is more than I care to comprehend. The only time would be if I needed an air ambulance and then I hope I'm unconscious.
1. Maggots. My loathing for these vile little entities can't really be put into words suffice to say their wriggly squirminess is enough to drive me to tears. I used to be a veterinary nurse and in the summer we'd often have rabbits brought in suffering from fly strike where flies would lay eggs in the faeces around the anus of the rabbit which would then hatch into maggots. I confess I used to hide and leave the de-maggoting to others. If I found a maggot in the house I'd have to be outside until it was removed. The thought of anybody in the house taking up fishing is enough to make me leave home!
So perhaps a fear of spiders isn't so bad! What are your odd fears? I'd love to hear them.
Today though was probably not the day for that. As I went to throw it on the grass it shot up my arm, over my shoulder and disappeared. I asked Connie if she could see it but she refused to come anywhere near me so I had to come back into the house to check in the mirror. Meanwhile Lorna and Connie were looking on horrified and calling out useful tips such as "get away from me" and " you're not going anywhere near my room!" Eventually I located it on my back - only for it to run up into my hair. At this point the girls demanded I go back outside, "and don't come back in till it's gone." I made like I was in a mosh pit and shook my head wildly. There was no sign of the spider. I'm hoping it came out when I was head banging, otherwise I have a new pet - living in my hair!
Anyway after the drama and with the children at school I started thinking about phobias. It always surprises me that they are scared of spiders given neither me nor their dad is remotely bothered by our arachnid friends. In fact as a child I would collect any I found around the house, stand on my cabin bed and put them on my ceiling. I do realise this isn't usual behaviour but nevertheless with such a relaxed attitude I do have to confess to finding it frustrating that all three have developed this fear. There is a small part of me itching to tell them to get over it and that spiders won't hurt them, but then I remember I'm not averse to one or two irrational fears/phobias myself. So in ascending order of my wussiness, here are my main fears
4. Small spaces. I know claustrophobia is common but my version is quite particular. I'm fine with lifts and aeroplanes for instance but don't like situations where I have to crawl into a small space and exit backwards. As I'm not a potholer this means what I'm actually afraid of is cleaning under the bunk beds. Every so often I have to sort out the mess that seems to accrue under there - soft toys, odd socks, puzzle pieces, Lego bricks - you know the drill. When this job needs doing I have to psyche myself up to crawl underneath the bed, then I grab as many items as I can in about two minutes before backing out quickly to steady my nerves before taking a deep breath ready to go back under for another go.
3. Dropping things from a height. I don't mind being high, as a child I loved climbing and abseiling on school trips. However, I really don't enjoy looking over say bridges or boats because I'm afraid I might drop something. My family never fail to laugh at me as I go through the routine of checking my rings, watch, camera, bag etc any time I've not been able to avoid a situation where something could conceivably fall away from me. In all honesty I'd probably be happier naked! Similarly I also have to check my rings every time I post a letter.
2. Helicopters. I blame this fear on ER and the fate of Dr Romano. I really dislike looking at helicopters flying and imagine them bursting into flames before my eyes. The thought of ever having to go on a helicopter is more than I care to comprehend. The only time would be if I needed an air ambulance and then I hope I'm unconscious.
1. Maggots. My loathing for these vile little entities can't really be put into words suffice to say their wriggly squirminess is enough to drive me to tears. I used to be a veterinary nurse and in the summer we'd often have rabbits brought in suffering from fly strike where flies would lay eggs in the faeces around the anus of the rabbit which would then hatch into maggots. I confess I used to hide and leave the de-maggoting to others. If I found a maggot in the house I'd have to be outside until it was removed. The thought of anybody in the house taking up fishing is enough to make me leave home!
So perhaps a fear of spiders isn't so bad! What are your odd fears? I'd love to hear them.
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
Something about Mary
It was an inset day for the younger two yesterday so first day back after half term today. We never seem to do very much during the half term holidays, I'll sometimes speak to other mums afterwards and they seem to have crammed in so many activities, I wonder when they found time to sleep. We do a lot of sleeping in the holidays. Then when we do finally surface there is no guarantee that any of us will bother getting dressed until after lunch. We mostly seem to mooch about, chat a bit, read, listen to music - not my choice of music but at least constant Starz TV keeps me down with the kids (although I do have to confess it was some time before I realised it was Hey Porsche and nothing to do with the Merchant of Venice!)
I do sometimes cook with them, although these days I'm often relegated to washer upper and Lorna is head chef. The drawback of this being I don't get to lick out the bowl. Mostly though I let them do their own thing rather than structure activities for them. I think children need to sometimes be bored so they can figure out ways to entertain themselves rather than relying on somebody else to always provide the entertainment. Plus there is something a bit soul destroying about taking half an hour to set up a craft activity only for Maggie to finish it in ten minutes leaving me with half an hour's worth of tidying up.
Worse than the messy short-lived craft activities though is the "playing with small toy figures" game. It is the game I most try to avoid but sometimes there is no escape. So it was one day last week, shortly after we'd set up the spring table I blogged about recently actually. I should have been more aware that having the box of various small figures out was asking for trouble but perhaps still recovering from a virus had dulled my wits. I agreed to play a short game, pleading a need to cook the dinner soon as a means to facilitating an escape when it all became too much. "Right then, the game is called 'Mary Mary Can't You See?'" I asked who Mary was but was met with a withering look, "there is no Mary. It's just the name of the game." I had to choose my toys, most of which were then confiscated as being "wrong". Eventually I was allowed a car, crab, cat, alien from Toy Story and Dora the Explorer's mum. I then had to think up acceptable things for each toy to say to her choices (lemur, cat, dinosaur, duck and another Dora's mum if you're wondering.) Several minutes of nonsensical conversation followed in which I had to admire a cat's medals, make the alien exercise and pretend Dora's mum was learning to fly, whilst trying to sneak on to Twitter to allow me to keep at least a tenuous grasp on reality. Eventually her cat appeared to turn to the dark side, stabbed my crab through the eye and needed to be jailed in the toy box. I took the opportunity to return the rest of the toys to the box and retire to the kitchen to cook dinner (read my book).
The toys are now packed safely in their box, high on a shelf until the next time I can't avoid the siren call of "please play with my aminals (sic) with me Mummy."
I never did find out who Mary was.
I do sometimes cook with them, although these days I'm often relegated to washer upper and Lorna is head chef. The drawback of this being I don't get to lick out the bowl. Mostly though I let them do their own thing rather than structure activities for them. I think children need to sometimes be bored so they can figure out ways to entertain themselves rather than relying on somebody else to always provide the entertainment. Plus there is something a bit soul destroying about taking half an hour to set up a craft activity only for Maggie to finish it in ten minutes leaving me with half an hour's worth of tidying up.
Worse than the messy short-lived craft activities though is the "playing with small toy figures" game. It is the game I most try to avoid but sometimes there is no escape. So it was one day last week, shortly after we'd set up the spring table I blogged about recently actually. I should have been more aware that having the box of various small figures out was asking for trouble but perhaps still recovering from a virus had dulled my wits. I agreed to play a short game, pleading a need to cook the dinner soon as a means to facilitating an escape when it all became too much. "Right then, the game is called 'Mary Mary Can't You See?'" I asked who Mary was but was met with a withering look, "there is no Mary. It's just the name of the game." I had to choose my toys, most of which were then confiscated as being "wrong". Eventually I was allowed a car, crab, cat, alien from Toy Story and Dora the Explorer's mum. I then had to think up acceptable things for each toy to say to her choices (lemur, cat, dinosaur, duck and another Dora's mum if you're wondering.) Several minutes of nonsensical conversation followed in which I had to admire a cat's medals, make the alien exercise and pretend Dora's mum was learning to fly, whilst trying to sneak on to Twitter to allow me to keep at least a tenuous grasp on reality. Eventually her cat appeared to turn to the dark side, stabbed my crab through the eye and needed to be jailed in the toy box. I took the opportunity to return the rest of the toys to the box and retire to the kitchen to cook dinner (read my book).
The toys are now packed safely in their box, high on a shelf until the next time I can't avoid the siren call of "please play with my aminals (sic) with me Mummy."
I never did find out who Mary was.
Saturday, 1 June 2013
Losing a pet
Bit of a sad post today as on Friday I found out my lovely old cat, Eliot had been put to sleep. I knew the end was coming, he was 18 and had hyperthyroidism but unfortunately his passing wasn't what I'd wished for.
He went out on Sunday afternoon and when he hadn't returned after a few hours I wasn't too concerned as he regularly visited a house over the road. However, when Connie went over there to collect him they said they hadn't seen him all day. We put a poster up, put notes through doors and phoned the vets but other than a call from a lady who'd seen him walking down the road on Sunday we heard nothing.
Then yesterday I had a call from a lady saying she'd found him at her work and then taken him to a shelter. She'd clearly fallen for him and remarked on what a lovely friendly cat he was. She told me she was intending to rescue him had his owners not turned up.
So I waited excitedly for the rescue shelter to ring me but my hopes were shattered when they said he'd become very ill and deteriorated so badly that on Tuesday the decision was taken to put him to sleep.
I rescued him when he was a tiny kitten. I used to be a veterinary nurse and he was brought into the practice one weekend as a stray and had a dreadful case of cat flu. We weren't sure if he'd survive, his mouth was ulcerated, he was a snotty mess and one eye had a painful corneal ulcer. He was also the friendliest little scrap and I fell for him immediately. Eventually the practice needed his cage and as he was infectious none of the shelters would take him. I agreed to take him home on trial as we had a Doberman who wasn't good with cats. Luckily he must have taken one look at him and decided he was too pathetic to bother with, so he ended up staying. I named him Eliot after T.S. Eliot.
I slowly nursed him back to health and other than a scar on his eye and being unable to miow properly, he enjoyed many years of good health. It was only in his last year that he began to show signs of suffering from hyperthyroidism.
He was the most gentle cat you could ever wish for with children. When I was pregnant he would curl up under my top and fall asleep on my bump. He never bit or scratched them, even when they were clumsy toddlers. I was always his favourite person though, he spent most evenings of his life curled up either on me or near me.
I was concerned as to how the girls would react to his death. Not Lorna so much, she's 14 and very pragmatic. Connie though is a sensitive soul at 11 and at 5 Maggie only has vague memories of the guinea pigs dying.
So far they seem to be fine although I wonder how they'll be when his body is returned to us next week. In that wonderfully accepting way that small people have Maggie declared "I am sad that Eliot's dead but happy we've got something to bury. We've not buried anything for ages! Always an up side eh?!
I'll miss him desperately, he came to live with me before I was married and just 22. Now I'm 40, have been married for almost 18 years and have three children. He's been a constant part of most of my adult life. I am grateful though to have been so lucky to have had him for so long and I think he enjoyed his 18 years with us.
He went out on Sunday afternoon and when he hadn't returned after a few hours I wasn't too concerned as he regularly visited a house over the road. However, when Connie went over there to collect him they said they hadn't seen him all day. We put a poster up, put notes through doors and phoned the vets but other than a call from a lady who'd seen him walking down the road on Sunday we heard nothing.
Then yesterday I had a call from a lady saying she'd found him at her work and then taken him to a shelter. She'd clearly fallen for him and remarked on what a lovely friendly cat he was. She told me she was intending to rescue him had his owners not turned up.
So I waited excitedly for the rescue shelter to ring me but my hopes were shattered when they said he'd become very ill and deteriorated so badly that on Tuesday the decision was taken to put him to sleep.
I rescued him when he was a tiny kitten. I used to be a veterinary nurse and he was brought into the practice one weekend as a stray and had a dreadful case of cat flu. We weren't sure if he'd survive, his mouth was ulcerated, he was a snotty mess and one eye had a painful corneal ulcer. He was also the friendliest little scrap and I fell for him immediately. Eventually the practice needed his cage and as he was infectious none of the shelters would take him. I agreed to take him home on trial as we had a Doberman who wasn't good with cats. Luckily he must have taken one look at him and decided he was too pathetic to bother with, so he ended up staying. I named him Eliot after T.S. Eliot.
I slowly nursed him back to health and other than a scar on his eye and being unable to miow properly, he enjoyed many years of good health. It was only in his last year that he began to show signs of suffering from hyperthyroidism.
He was the most gentle cat you could ever wish for with children. When I was pregnant he would curl up under my top and fall asleep on my bump. He never bit or scratched them, even when they were clumsy toddlers. I was always his favourite person though, he spent most evenings of his life curled up either on me or near me.
I was concerned as to how the girls would react to his death. Not Lorna so much, she's 14 and very pragmatic. Connie though is a sensitive soul at 11 and at 5 Maggie only has vague memories of the guinea pigs dying.
So far they seem to be fine although I wonder how they'll be when his body is returned to us next week. In that wonderfully accepting way that small people have Maggie declared "I am sad that Eliot's dead but happy we've got something to bury. We've not buried anything for ages! Always an up side eh?!
I'll miss him desperately, he came to live with me before I was married and just 22. Now I'm 40, have been married for almost 18 years and have three children. He's been a constant part of most of my adult life. I am grateful though to have been so lucky to have had him for so long and I think he enjoyed his 18 years with us.
Wednesday, 29 May 2013
Snakes on a spring table
So it's half term and as usual (so it seems) I've been ill for the first part of it with a chest infection virus-y thing.
Today though I felt a bit better and so finally managed to make a spring table with Maggie. Admittedly it is almost summer but as it feels like autumn I figure we can allow a little leeway with our seasonal tables.
Now if you search for 'spring tables' on Pinterest you will undoubtedly find Waldorf inspired masterpieces. I dream of having such beauty in our house. However, as we have a shelf high above the television with a garden ornament squirrel inherited from my great aunt on it, such wishes for understated good taste seem futile.
It started well, we gave the Grimm's Rainbow pride of place and found the little Ostheimer rabbit and a tree. Then we added a couple of books, the mint plant Maggie had grown at school and some spring flowers we'd picked in the garden. Connie found a nest on a woodland path the other day so we put that in front of the rainbow. Maggie thought it needed some birds and luckily we had some pink and blue chicks left over from Easter so they found a new home. This is when my dreams of a tasteful table began to fade. She decided we needed a mummy bird, so we looked in the box of toy figures. No mummy bird was found but she did find lots of other toys that apparently no spring table could do without.
The Littlest Pet Shop caterpillar and butterfly were fine for the theme, the pink cat less so, "but Mummy, they're best friends."
It was not long before they were joined by the most mismatched herd of cows in the history of farming, a wooden snake and its baby (a soft snake from Ikea), a small plastic frog and two racing snails. And what spring table isn't complete without a mother dinosaur and her baby hatching from an egg? Our work of art was completed by the careful placing of a plastic fairy I think came from McDonalds and her faithful hare/rabbit (I'm not sure which but the ears suggest hare).
It's unlikely to feature on Pinterest any time soon but she had fun and at least when the cat invariably jumps up there and destroys the entire display I won't be too disappointed.
Today though I felt a bit better and so finally managed to make a spring table with Maggie. Admittedly it is almost summer but as it feels like autumn I figure we can allow a little leeway with our seasonal tables.
Now if you search for 'spring tables' on Pinterest you will undoubtedly find Waldorf inspired masterpieces. I dream of having such beauty in our house. However, as we have a shelf high above the television with a garden ornament squirrel inherited from my great aunt on it, such wishes for understated good taste seem futile.
It started well, we gave the Grimm's Rainbow pride of place and found the little Ostheimer rabbit and a tree. Then we added a couple of books, the mint plant Maggie had grown at school and some spring flowers we'd picked in the garden. Connie found a nest on a woodland path the other day so we put that in front of the rainbow. Maggie thought it needed some birds and luckily we had some pink and blue chicks left over from Easter so they found a new home. This is when my dreams of a tasteful table began to fade. She decided we needed a mummy bird, so we looked in the box of toy figures. No mummy bird was found but she did find lots of other toys that apparently no spring table could do without.
The Littlest Pet Shop caterpillar and butterfly were fine for the theme, the pink cat less so, "but Mummy, they're best friends."
It was not long before they were joined by the most mismatched herd of cows in the history of farming, a wooden snake and its baby (a soft snake from Ikea), a small plastic frog and two racing snails. And what spring table isn't complete without a mother dinosaur and her baby hatching from an egg? Our work of art was completed by the careful placing of a plastic fairy I think came from McDonalds and her faithful hare/rabbit (I'm not sure which but the ears suggest hare).
It's unlikely to feature on Pinterest any time soon but she had fun and at least when the cat invariably jumps up there and destroys the entire display I won't be too disappointed.
Monday, 20 May 2013
Why equal marriage should affect us all
I'm going to start today's post by saying that I am straight and married. It doesn't really matter but I suppose you could say that those opposed to equal marriage think it is children like mine who need protecting.
They don't speak for me though; my children know that some people are gay because, well, why shouldn't they? I can think of no logical reason for them not to know that two women or two men can love each other as much as a man and a woman. My 5 year old has seen gay kissing on TV because I don't feel I need censor it any more that heterosexual kissing. I don't remember if she reacted, quite possibly it was just with a soppy "awww" because she likes to see people in love.
I've seen a few comments today from people in favour of equal marriage saying that if the Bill passes it won't make any difference to those of us who have been able to choose whether or not we get married. I think in time that will be true but right now I disagree. It will make a difference because it will mean that when I tell my children that all people are equal, the law (in this country at least) will reflect that. I want them to grow up in a country where adults have the right to choose whether or not they marry regardless of their sexuality. I tell my daughters that when they grow up they can marry a man or a woman. I want that to be true.
Other people's choices don't affect us, but the difference between living in a country that allows or prohibits equality should concern us all.
They don't speak for me though; my children know that some people are gay because, well, why shouldn't they? I can think of no logical reason for them not to know that two women or two men can love each other as much as a man and a woman. My 5 year old has seen gay kissing on TV because I don't feel I need censor it any more that heterosexual kissing. I don't remember if she reacted, quite possibly it was just with a soppy "awww" because she likes to see people in love.
I've seen a few comments today from people in favour of equal marriage saying that if the Bill passes it won't make any difference to those of us who have been able to choose whether or not we get married. I think in time that will be true but right now I disagree. It will make a difference because it will mean that when I tell my children that all people are equal, the law (in this country at least) will reflect that. I want them to grow up in a country where adults have the right to choose whether or not they marry regardless of their sexuality. I tell my daughters that when they grow up they can marry a man or a woman. I want that to be true.
Other people's choices don't affect us, but the difference between living in a country that allows or prohibits equality should concern us all.
Friday, 17 May 2013
Blossom and bottoms
Yesterday we finally had a bit of sunshine so decided to walk across the fields on the way home from school. We moved house in January and being able to take this route is a pleasure but with the weather being so awful we haven't walked this way as often as I'd have liked.
Maggie picked some flowers (mostly dandelions), checked out the blossom on the trees and insisted on posing in the photos I was taking of the views.
There were cows in the next field and I wondered how she'd react. When she was younger she was petrified of even the word 'cow', we had to sing about the horse jumping over the moon and mooing was enough to make her sob. So it was with some trepidation that we approached them, particularly as a few were very close to the path. She was holding my hand and I could feel her tension so I chatted to her calmly, told her to walk sensibly, and breezily chatted to the cows as we passed.
Once we neared the stile she relaxed and so I suggested we took a photo. Unfortunately at that moment the cows took it on themselves to walk away and I joked we didn't want a picture of cows' bottoms.
Later she told me she'd like to walk this way more often "so we can see the cows' bottoms again!" as that was her favourite part of the walk. Next time maybe I should take a photo.
Maggie picked some flowers (mostly dandelions), checked out the blossom on the trees and insisted on posing in the photos I was taking of the views.
There were cows in the next field and I wondered how she'd react. When she was younger she was petrified of even the word 'cow', we had to sing about the horse jumping over the moon and mooing was enough to make her sob. So it was with some trepidation that we approached them, particularly as a few were very close to the path. She was holding my hand and I could feel her tension so I chatted to her calmly, told her to walk sensibly, and breezily chatted to the cows as we passed.
Once we neared the stile she relaxed and so I suggested we took a photo. Unfortunately at that moment the cows took it on themselves to walk away and I joked we didn't want a picture of cows' bottoms.
Later she told me she'd like to walk this way more often "so we can see the cows' bottoms again!" as that was her favourite part of the walk. Next time maybe I should take a photo.
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