Indiana Jones - Eat Your Heart Out

After this morning's 4th July shennanigans at Washington Old Hall, which your faithful correspondent found rather heady, and Dr Squirrel found rather dull, we had a spot of lunch and then set off on a little trek in the area surrounding Blanchland, a charming medieval village not far from us.

Like slightly chubbier versions of Indiana Jones and Lara Croft, we were on the hunt for buried treasure.

And this time, we found it. Twice.



On the way, we met some chickens. I don't know why I'm telling you this, I guess I just thought it's something you might want to know. The chickens made it clear they didn't like us by making a lot of unpleasant noise until we had passed.

This is me, having just found our FIRST EVER GEOCACHE!! Back of the net! Or in this case, back of the grotty tree stump. I suspect for Dr Squirrel, the best part of all this is in the fiddling around with complicated techno-gidgets, closely followed by being out "in nature". For me, it is undoubtedly the opportunity to scrabble about in an undignified manner getting dirty. It's like a return to something more free and honest. As the website says, you don't stop playing because you get old, you get old because you stop playing.

Here is a close-up of the treasure itself. In both cases today, we took nothing and left nothing in the caches. We merely indicated our presence in the enclosed logbook.

Here I am with our second find of the day. Next time, gold doubloons? Arrrr, me hearties.

We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident....

....that all men are created equal, and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Yes people, today is the 4th July.




This morning, Dr Squirrel and I arrived at Washington Old Hall, the ancestral home of George Washington, founding father and first ever President of the United States of America. The place was already humming, and we had to park quite a bit further down the road.

In the background, under the marquee, you can see children from two local primary schools ready to to put on their little performances, including a reading from Martin Luther King's famous I Have A Dream speech. The boy in the foreground, with his back to us, is a local school student, dressed in the uniform of George Washington's personal bodyguards. At the appropriate time, he will take the flag to two representatives of the Daughters of the American Revolution, who will raise it on there yonder flagpole. The City of Sunderland has a friendship pact with the City of Washington, DC because of these historic links, and one of the local primary schools is actually named after John F Kennedy.

The Daughters of the American Revolution raise the flag. Then the band strikes up, and the stately garden rings to the sounds of the Star-Spangled Banner.

The United States is unique. A work in progress, a noble experiment. Let us all do whatever we can to make sure that soon, this flag stands once again for freedom.

Noob Cachers Muggled

Dr Squirrel and I have stumbled upon a geeky new hobby to share.

It's called geocaching, and it mostly involves wandering around with a handheld gidget looking like complete pricks, if not terrorists, until you find a hidden waterproof box left by another sad-arse trekkie and tamper with it.

Seriously, it's that sad. If you don't believe me, google it.

Well, the two chubby cache virgins set out this evening for local beauty spot Watergate Park. We are pretty sure that we found the location (it was not too challenging), but despite some extensive scrabbling about, no tupperware container. It was very disappointing, although on the upside, we were good global citizens and removed some beer cans that were lying about (thus following the responsible geocacher's creed of Cache In Trash Out). Either we're such outrageous amateurs that we somehow managed to miss the goodies, or this cache has been discovered and then misplaced by someone who has no idea about geocaching, alternatively known as a muggle.

Given the beer cans in the vicinity, this does not seem an unlikely scenario.

So, a small disappointment there (particularly after scrabbling over rocks and grazing my elbow), but the good news is that Dr Squirrel and I are no longer Geocaching Virgins.

Also, you feel like an away team from Star Trek when you're on the hunt in the vicinity of a cache. Although it would also fit with various Indiana Jones fantasies. Excellent material for the inveterate Walter Mitties amongst us.

Where I Live - Part II

Allegedly, there is a station in the village. Here it is. However, as far as I know, there has not been a single train or train-like piece of equipment that has stopped here since the universe began. One passes over the alleged "railway bridge" on one's way up the hill to the "top shops".

Right by the top shops, here is the local Anglican church. Every so often, the blood drive comes to the church hall and and inveigels volunteers to part with their Precious Bodily Fluids. Notice the cute flowerbed, complete with proto-palm thing.

A close-up shot of the village's War Memorial, which is right by the churches and the top shops.

Coming back down from the top of the village, you find yourself walking over the A1. Here is a sign telling you how to get to London. On the other side of the road, there's a sign telling you how to get to Edinburgh. Don't get confused, now.

This is the house where I stay. Congratulations. You have now completed your brief tour round the village. Put the kettle on and cut yourself a nice big slice of cake.

Where I Live - Part I

I have been in the north-east of England for almost two years now, living in a village which is officially part of Gateshead. Here is a quick tour.



This is the local garage. It is about a minute's walk from where we stay. The bastards aren't open 24 hrs, but this remains the place to go if you've run out of milk, sliced bread or cigarettes.

The village is built on a kind of circuit design. I try to regularly take a walk all the way round, which works out at a lovely bite-sized half hour. This is the "bottom Coop", which is on a parade of shops down at the bottom of the village. There are shops at the "top" of the village too, but for some weird reason we never seem to frequent them.

The village's most notorious landmark. Officially called the "Derwent Tower", it is actually almost universally known as "The Rocket". Due to be demolished some time soon, the Rocket is a useful landmark if you find yourself lost in the general area. It has about two tenants left, or something. Down beside the "bottom shops".

Just further on from the Rocket, as you carry on your walk around the village, this is "The Clav", one of the local Working Men's Clubs. Oft frequented by my father-in-law.

Carry on past the Clav, and you start to climb the hill, towards the "top shops", a couple of churches, and the A1. The first real feature you pass is the "Dunston Activity Centre", where you can pay your rent, engage in various community activities, and which also houses the local library.

Kolya Nathaniel Segura - The Pictures

My brand new nephew, Kolya, and his proud parents are, as it turns out, rather photogenic. Here's a look at the first couple of days of the cub.



It's late morning on the 2nd May 2008, and Kolya has just been very busy being born. Here he is getting his first non-aquatic snuggle with his rather heroic mum.

My nephew Kolya in the arms of his obviously very proud father.

My friend Christian described this photo as "the one where he looks like a little blue fajita". Kolya on his first day in the world, having a very well-earned nap in his "snuggle nest", wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Day 2 - chilling in his daddy's arms.

Kolya and his mum having a bit of a snooze together.

L'Chaim: The Week I Became An Aunty

It has been a strange week. A week of awe and new beginnings.

On Thursday, I received a text at about 1400 hrs from my little brother, obviously referring to his fiancee, who was 9 months pregnant. It said, quite simply - "Waters broken."

I heard nothing for several hours, so later in the afternoon I gave them a ring to see how things were. The answer was, very relaxed. Nobody was in a rush, least of all mother and child. I tried to chill out but I was very excited, and a little nervous.

That evening, I attended the Yom HaShoah service at the Newcastle Reform Synagogue. Death and life. Life and death. As I drove there, I tried to put it all together in my mind, as I repeated over and over again: "Baruch ata Adonai, m'kadesh ha'chaim. Baruch ata Adonai, m'kadesh ha'olam." I thought of Lisa hundreds of miles away, and her struggle to push her son out of the safety of her body and into a complex, flawed, vortical and beautiful world. I thought of sex and dying and love and need, of cruelty and self-sacrifice and joy.

Blessed are you, Eternal One, who makes life holy.

Blessed are you, Eternal One, who makes the universe holy.

The service was exactly as you imagine it. The epitome of the shocking contrast between the abstract and the personal. Yes, we should all hate injustice and inhumanity. We should hate it every day. We should hate it all the time. Ideologically, politically, morally. That is our duty. But sometimes, too, we perhaps have a duty to stand in a quiet room with a dozen elderly people whose hands we shake every week, and listen to the names of their murdered mothers, and fathers, and sisters, and brothers.

I drove home. It was dark.

Things still didn't make sense, but I felt no sense of wrongness.

The next day at about 1300 hrs, my brother called.

Hello, Aunty Katya....

he said.

Your nephew is here.

I feel almost paralysed with a strange sort of joy.

Kolya Nathaniel Segura was born on Friday 2nd May at 1053 hrs, weighing in at 3kg, and measuring 54cm. Mother and child are both well. Father is ecstatic. I don't quite know what to say.

Nothing makes sense, and yet everything does. Welcome to the world, little one.

L'Chaim.