o zivote a nezivote

Sedim doma v mojej izbe. Skoro cely den. Do nicoho sa mi nechce. Je mi o nicom. Zle spravy z domova. V priebehu dna sa to len zhorsovalo. Rano pri prezerani postovej schranky na yahoo som jednym okom zachytilaspravu o tragickej autobusovej nehode na Slovensku. Neskor som sa dozvedela zo slovenskeho internetu ze pri zrazke autobusu a vlaku zahynulo 12 ludi z Banoviec a okolia. A podla poslednych sprav od Lucie dvaja z tych nestastnych ludi boli rodicia Misky Kusej, teta a ujo Kusi. Je mi z toho smutno. A je mi skoro az nevolno ked si pomyslim co preziva Miska a jej surodenci. Zo dna na den sa z nich stali siroty. A ta teta Kusa o ktorej Miska na Vianoce rozpravala, vraj aka je aktivna, chodi na kalanatiku a cojaviemco, tak ta teta Kusa teraz lezi bez zivota niekde v nejakej mraznicke, zazipsovana, chladna, mrtva...Mali sa ist lyzovat, zial dopadlo to celkom inak. Myslim na Misku a v duchu jej posielam slova utechy a podpory. Kruty zivot!

Loch Ossian

I thought I would share some of my pictures with everyone, with a hope to please and inspire you. The spring has sprung and my wondering shoes are restless after a long and gloomy wiggie winter. Not being a car owner, I have decided to explore places along the West Highland railway line. The result was fatal. I mean fatal attraction. If you are looking for somewhere to switch off, somewhere to wash your spirit clean, that keep on reading. If that is not your cup of tea, keep on reading too, you never know!
It is as easy as this:
Wake up before the sunrise and catch sleeper from Glasgow heading north. Preferably without oversleeping and nearly missing it. Get some sleep on a train and after a couple of hours get off at Corrour Station in the middle of nowhere; for movie buffs, it’s the one that featured in the Trainspotting.



Within the radius of perhaps ten miles there is NOTHING. BIG NOTHING. Nothing so beautifully desolate. Nothing so desolately beautiful. Having grown up in the landscape of deciduous woodlands, moorland still takes me by surprise, especially if there’s so much of it. Rolling hills and heather and grass and peat. And deer. Lots.

Being on a low budget I steered away from the B&B at the station and galloped towards Loch Ossian, with tiny islands covered in trees and a rustic eco-friendly youth hostel on its shores.


It boasts with grey-water recycling scheme and environmentally friendly composting toilet system!

Saturday started perfectly calm and hazy…



…and it was spent high up on the hills…





… with some excellent botanising – purple saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia).




On Sunday, tired legs were rebelling against another long trek, so in the end they got away with a walk around the loch and some more snapping for the ecology picture library.
And in the evening back home to our Dear Green Place, with batteries fully charged for the coming week:).

Altogether a great weekend in a stunning place, strongly recommended! (Preferably early in the season, as in summer midges apparently are a total nightmare!)

Me & Arnie (and our struggle)

Well ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for me to attach myself to someone. It came unexpected and I only had a few days to sort myself out and have a few brief encounters with several others before day D, when I met him. Arnie. Arnie is white, well-shaped and in a good condition. He gets a lot of attention when he is with me. The beginnings were hard. I was introduced to him and I cowardly backed up, scared to even touch him, never mind turning him on. I was overwhelmed with fear. Next day I got the guts and started dealing with him. I had a close look at his equipment, touched him nearly everywhere. Being a bit bossy as I am, I started to give him orders straight away, but he would not listen. He would just stubbornly stand there and he wouldn’t move.

Since I haven’t got much experience with Arnies and such likes, it took some time before I discovered what he likes and what he doesn’t. He really likes when I handle him nice and gently, then he purrs like a cat and everything is fine. What he doesn’t like is when I am rough with him and treat him badly, and then he moans and shows his discomfort to other people as well. I am then ashamed and try never to do the same mistake again. So far it has been a bit of a struggle, but I think our relationship is on the best way to improve. I’m getting used to him and I am fully aware of the fact that Arnie is giving me freedom that I didn’t know until now. I am on a way to reunite with him again and I hope he hasn’t started to fancy someone else since we departed on Friday. I hope he will still be there and will wink his eyes when I touch the right button. My Arnie. My faithful companion for a next couple of months. My Renault Kangoo from Arnold Clark Car Hire in Edinburgh:).

Loud and Clear...

Today was very gloomy day. Not because of the weather, which is so much unlike spring, but because of the morning event. The day started alright though; I had a pleasant bike ride to work, wrapped myself in many layers and went on with cutting the rushes in the corner of the field. Then the boss came and it’s what he told me that made me extremely upset. I told him about my Friday job interview yesterday and he seemed to be fine with it. Only after he slept on it and did a bit of thinking, he changed his mind. Today he came with a suggestion that we will make my post at his business casual rather than permanent, because I started volunteering at National Trust one day a week and I am leaving out days every now and then to attend to job interviews. As he put it, by doing that I am not showing enough commitment for my current job. I don’t know what else he has said because by that time I was squatting on the ground and my eyes full of tears, sobbing regardless of his presence. It confused him a bit and he started waffling about how he has not seen the cats for a few days and how the weather is getting warmer, but I did not respond to anything so he walked away. And I was there, sitting on the ground and crying over something that I was striving for since I came to this country. Basically, he is not happy with me applying for jobs and going to the interviews, because that means a potential loss of an employee, who he can rely on, who works hard and who works for peanuts, thus very difficult to be replaced. He is convinced, that he can offer me better career prospect than anybody else. Barrowing manure and clipping fruit bushes. I wonder what the promotion would bring. I was never really ambitious and career driven, but I aspire for a bit more that that. I have two degrees for God’s sake! I dislike using argument of having such and such degrees to prove intelligence or ability, but if I wanted to dedicate my life to barrowing manure, I would hardly ever have gone to the university and underwent what I have undergone in order to have enough money for tuition fees. I did not work as a domestic cleaner in Manchester for two years and as office cleaner while studying for nothing, certainly not to become a gardener. Nothing against gardeners, it is a lovely job giving awesome results, but first someone will have to prove to me, that I can’t do anything better than that and then I’ll be happy to do the gardening for the rest of my life. Only a foolish person would be so naïve and suppose that I will linger in that job for years to come. I think I made it crystal clear at the beginning, hinting that it is not exactly my dream job, but I will be happy to do it until something better turns up. Certainly happier than working in the retail at Moto Forton services, which was my other option. Once you are turned down your JSA claim and you are on the brink of existential problems, you can’t be very picky.

So all my joy and pride and satisfaction of getting interview again was instantly abused, torn, smashed, beaten and trodden upon. That is why the tears came without warning. Why should I feel bad for pursuing my dream!? The organic fruit farming business is his dream, and I am helping him to achieve it as good as I can. I am now old enough to know that first of all I have to watch my own interest to achieve my goals and then consider others. I am not person without a backbone; I try never to harm anybody else, so why do I never get the same treatment?

Just how many more years will I have to live in this country to be accepted and respected like anybody else? To hell with all the equal opportunities which everyone boasts about practicing! The reality is very different. “Oh, you are from Slovakia” (you can feel that disappointment, pity and anxiety about contagious diseases almost palpably). I am fed up to the marrow of my bones with having to prove myself all the time. On a day like today I feel like booking the first available ticket home and leave for good. Fortunately, I am a fighter, so as soon as the tears dry out, the wound heals and the skin becomes tougher, less penetrable, more resistant and stronger. So in fact, these people are actually helping me to work harder and get even more motivation. All those who consider me being inferior should reconsider. They should spend some time thinking about if and when they had courage to leave their home country and went to study in a language that is not their native language, managed to get the degree and started building their career. Without a support and presence of their family and people they left behind. The world is not revolving around the UK as many people seem to think, I am British, and who is more kind of attitude.

Yes, acceptance and recognition is what I was striving for and I thought I succeeded, yet today was the day when the pink bubbles burst once again. There is this person who I know who keeps referring to people from my country as dirty Slovaks and dodgy people and I am often wondering if it is meant as a joke, or is he expressing the well established public opinion.

How could I have a healthy confidence when my person, origin, appearance, behaviour and language are so many times frowned upon? Who gives all these people right to be so condescending and deny the equality of all human beings?

After boss left I was engaging my mind with this for the rest of the day and slowly but surely I fished out several “incidents” well embedded in my memory. Such as my ex-housemate offering me a fiver for cleaning his room, my current housemate saying she could not believe I (!!) got a job interview, or one of my ex-housemates annoyed with being beaten in the general knowledge board game “ EVEN by Lenka”. I think it is extremely rude and offensive. I am not the brightest person in this universe, but neither am I the dumbest one. So why all the humiliation and arrogance? How did I deserve it? How does the command of foreign language reflect the mental ability? I am sick of all those people thinking that I am just about good enough to do manual labour, at most. Sod all you narrow-minded and self-centred people who don’t see further than the tip of your nose!

I am turning 26 on Sunday, the age in which many people have well established careers, secure income etc. I am still at the beginning and there is a long way to go, but I believe that with the plentiful help of many “nice” people I have come across and who I am yet to meet, I will sooner or later get where I want to be.

Done. The last bitter drop of anger was squeezed from my heart.

Open Adventure 2 or How We Lost It Again

After nearly two months of “thorough” training (cycling to and from work daily plus an odd run last Friday), we were going to try our luck again in adventure racing last Sunday. This time the event was taking place in North Pennines, in Hamsterley Forest. Since it is miles away from Lancaster, we had an early departure, 7.00 on Sunday morning, which none of us particularly liked. What we liked even less was the weather forecast (heavy snowing) and what we saw out there when we woke up (heavy snowing, surprisingly). Well, I am exaggerating a bit there, it was just a few snow flakes in Lancaster, but it was turning into a mild-with-a-tendency-of-bad blizzard as we were approaching our destination. So there we were, a crew of four, namely team Niksneb Nosnibor alias Pete & Clare and Big Fat Bitches alias myself & Spider, travelling northeast and moaning about the weather.
As usually, the first task was to sort out my hired bike, which fortunately wasn’t taxing this time, since the hiring shop was right near the registration point. I got a nice Merida for 17 quid and a good luck wish for free.
Before we arrived, we were all hoping that most of the people will give up because of the weather, but that is probably what everyone else was relying on, so we found the car park full of cars loaded with top range bicycles and an exquisite selection of lycra-clad men. Hmmmm. Definitely worth a look. Some of them even two:).
I slacked the preparations, but at least I’ve enhanced my gear kit, so that I did not have to ask Pete for every single bit. I bought myself a helmet and a little rucksack with a hydration system, you know, all those flashy hill walkers sucking the hoses. Anyway, not recommended for low temperatures, unless you manage to squeeze some ice out of that flashy hose. I did not.
Since by the time we made our way to the start it was snowing heavily, we decided to cycle first to avoid extra effort of cycling in deeper snow later. We decided on the approximate route and off we went, collecting the precious points. Until yesterday, I have never really cycled in snow, because at home there is either no snow, or there is so much of it, that it makes cycling impossible. Here we had some 5-6 cm of snow and more still to come from the “fluffy clouds”. Being a snow-cycling novice, I did not know how the bike would behave on this “surface”, but I learnt very quickly, my first fall was well within first few minutes, still near the start and to the great delight of both photographers, waiting to take the best shot. After they took zillions of shots of me with my limbs spread on the ground, they did not forget to ask if I was ok:)
I have to say I was quite pleased with the way the race was going, at least our navigation seemed to be much better this time and we were finding the controls rather quickly (with the aid of tyre tracks and footprints in the snow). My bike was working well, even the gear shifting was perfect, after I realised I don’t need to use full force like on my “commuting” bike. So the overall pleasure from cycling was only occasionally spoiled by skidding, blocked brake pads or iced snow blown in the face by a strong wind. Otherwise everything was fine, now I regret that I did not take in the surroundings a bit more, it was amazing, coniferous forest with giant spruces covered in freshly fallen snow, the most idyllic winter picture indeed. Alas, we did not come there to watch the beauty!
After picking up all the controls that we could we returned to the transition, had a banana, checked briefly the running route and set off. This time we only had 1 and half hour for running, which still proved more than enough to my untrained body. We met some serious competitors on the way; a guy had a girl attached to him on the rope to help her running faster! Not that we were taking it easy, but enough is enough, I did not feel like pulling Spider at all. We picked up four controls on feet and headed back to make it on time and not to get any penalties. No time for frolicking in snow whatsoever. At the end I was really digging deep, but finally we made it to the finish and it was over. We rushed to the car park to meet Niksneb Nosnibor and to the shelter to (in no particular order) have a nice cup of coffee, do a bit of bird watching and to download our dibbers, full of expectations.
I don’t need to say how disappointed we were when we found out that not only we did not beat NN, but we did not beat anybody else:(. We came last and I was overwhelmed with a mixture of feelings, a bit of pride for completing it in such conditions, a bit of shame for coming last and a great deal of curiosity what sort of superhumans were the winners with their score of 470 points! It wasn’t a happy end, but nevertheless I had a great time and good fun. One has to remind oneself that one is competing with the top of the top in the NW and to get higher up the result list one has to move one’s arse.Or alternatively, Spider suggested he could have a sex change and BFB could compete in the female pairs category (it belongs there by name anyway) where there is much less competition.

For the future here is the BFB’s vision:

- We’ll be trying hard not to get any worse results than those we got so far (it’s hardly possible)

- We’ll be working on Spider’s gender transformation

So far so good. We’ll see what the next stage brings. See you again in May!

…and by the way, link to race report and picture gallery will be provided soon, I believe some of my female readers would not like to miss lycra men on the catwalk!

From the underground

With a short delay but memories still vivid am I going to present you with this narrative about our adventurous outing last Sunday. Quite some time ago Pete started to prepare us for a great day outdoors and indoors at the same time and this idea was to be materialised on Sunday. Pot holing was the activity and A-Cave-Somewhere-In-The-Yorkshire–Dales was a destination. Being to only a few caves before and most of them easy accessible, I did not know what to expect. My only previous experience with serious pot holing was from my local cave at home, called Dupna Diera, where apart from crawling, bending and squeezing through holes I have done a bit of a research on a cave fauna with my friend for a secondary school project.
This time we had a new member in our group, Claire joined us and hopefully she will linger with us for a long time! I started to sense the seriousness of the whole thing when we popped into the outdoor shop in Ingleton, where we hired helmets and belts and head torches and batteries. With all these attached to appropriate parts of my body, I felt extremely “sexy”, but with relief I noticed that my friends were not looking any better. Pete surprised with gorgeous bright orange overall, which he wanted to test before he would wear it on a night out in Lancaster. I want to be there then! Equipped and determined we made our way towards the cave entrance. First we passed Alum Pot, which is a “hole” about 50 metres deep and giving me goose pimples. There were several entrances to the Low Churn cave system, and to me it looked like we have made an arbitrary choice, but apparently Pete knew what he was doing (and we all sincerely believed he did!) Off we went, below the ground, with the beams of our head torches exploring the interior of the cave and our feet in omnipresent stream of water. My helmet saved me from scratches and maybe even a mild concussion, considering that every now and again I forgot that cave ceilings were tailor-made for dwarfs and hobbits rather than human weirdoes. Pete’s waterproof socks came very handy, but after I unwillingly ended up in the over-knee deep pool of water it did not matter any more. It was nothing like I have done before. Almost like scrambling, but underground. Later in the pub, we realised that the cave was a grade 3 difficulty level, 5 being the most difficult. We were walking through series of corridors of variable height and width, with series of cascades with deep pools of icy water. Adrenalin stuff. I cannot exactly imagine how groups of school kids, like those we met there, can absolve that without any injuries. This thought has stricken me particularly when we got to the spot called Cheese Press, one of the highlights of our tour. Very appropriate name, I have to say. Imagine a wall of solid rock about 6 metres thick. Then imagine that somehow, (water erosion-collapse of the rock perhaps?) the rock is not solid from the top to the bottom any more, as if the whole block was lifted up or the bottom sank, which resulted in the creation of passage, which is comfortably wide, but sooooo low, that it must be a claustrophobic person’s worst nightmare. The only way forward to the following open chamber is by crawling lizard-like, following a visible path well worn by countless bellies. The passage is only about 40cm high, so the helmet had to be taken off and pushed in front of me. Claire was the first one to go and she did very well, using a snake strategy, swinging her body from one side to the other. I followed, using an earthworm strategy of pushing myself forward on the tips of my boots. It was time for our gents to give it a go and I was a bit worried, since Pete had said that he did not manage to get through on his last visit. Fortunately, both he and Spider squeezed through, using survival strategy. Then there were some more corridors and pools before we got to the last open chamber with a big pool, called Someone’s hand basin. When we turned our lights off, it was really really dark, surprisingly! As dark as this:

The only way out was up a rather impressive waterfall, which we conquered with more or less confidence and on this occasion Pete’s waterproofs were tested heavily, since Spider climbing ahead of him stepped right in the middle of the stream and remained there for some time oblivious of all the water splash coming right onto Pete bellow. When we reached the surface again, I regretted it was over, because it was superb and I think all my companions would agree with me on this one. In terms of the interior decoration, the cave was way behind what I’ve seen in Slovakia, you could occasionally spot tiny stalagtites on the ceiling, but that was it. Yet it was fascinating experience, a different dimension, a novelty uncovered and dangerously hooking. Where is the next cave then?
Still the best bit was yet to come! Following good old tradition we stopped at the pub called The Hill Inn to quench our thirst with a well-deserved drink. This pub is popular with pot holers for it features a real pot holing “simulator”. Nailed to the wooden planks separating two seating areas is a huge wooden wheel with twlwe wooden spokes dividing a circle into thirteen “pizza pieces”. It does not take too many beers before someone gets the idea to attempt to squeeze between the spokes of the wheel. And the tradition was born. According to the bar staff, this has been going on for several decades now and I would never forgive myself wasting a chance and leaving without giving it a go. We also got a bit of guidance, such as “choose the well-worn 8. hour, go head first, twist your hips and hold your legs horizontally”. Easy to say, not so easy to do. This time I was a brave one. I chose 6. hour and head first approach. After the initial struggle and realising that I have to squeeze in both my arms before my head, I proceeded successfully up to the point where I got stuck, well, ehm, on my chest. For the first time in my life I thought my breasts are too big! Eventually I managed to pull myself forward only to get stuck further down the way, this time on my hips.Somebody once told me I am a curvy girl, so there we are! After a bit of twisting and turning I was through, performing the same act as 25 years ago when I was trying to get out of my mum’s belly curious about what’s waiting for me out there. Claire followed with more-less the same difficulties, since we are of a similar size and figure. Our gents were a bit reluctant after what they’ve seen, but they both tried, bless them. Pete gave up when he was about half way through and so did Spider. One would have thought it would be their manly chests stopping them but the real obstacle was a bit lower…hehe. It was a great fun to watch. Only when Spider tried to reverse his torso and realised that would not work and it obviously was causing him pain, I realised that laughter is no more appropriate. Fortunately, he did not get to the stage some other people did, when they had to be undressed, buttered and pulled out! Just the thought of it makes me feel like rolling on the floor. A notice on the wall said that one guy was so determined, he fractured two ribs in order to get through! We are not as mad as that, we did it for a crack of it. Besides, breaking bones in the pub after surviving the cave would be pathetic.

So that was my Sunday, JUST THE WAY ******** I LIKE IT************ :))

Spider at his best

Pete contemplating the approach with Claire looking forward to have a bit of a laugh

Big Dog House

BACKGROUND INFORMATION TO THE STORY:

In a last couple of weeks our housemate was giving us slight hints about her intention to bring her dog over, such as placing a framed picture of her dog on the dining room table. Since we knew that her dog rearing abilities were earlier proved very poor, we were not too keen to agree. At the same time me and Spider, being nice people, we did not feel we can turn her down straight away, so we agreed on a trial period.

So, there they were yesterday evening, Jenny & Jossie, the former being our housemate, the latter being our new housepet.

Jossie is a kind of undetermined dog breed, or at least I cannot determine it using my best canine knowledge. What I know for sure is that she is fat and spoiled, but still quite adorable creature.

And for all of you, who don't want to miss out on this, I set up this weblog diary where I will be posting daily updates from the Big Dog House.

Big Dog House, Day 1

The trial started rather catastrophically. What happened was exactly what I feared would happen. Since Jenny's room is next to mine and the walls are paper-thin, I can always hear when she wakes up and gets ready to go to work. Think what you want, but particularly on the first morning I wanted to have a look into how it will all work, how will she manage to go out with the dog before going to work for 9am so I was listening to what is going on next door.

8:00 Signs of movement there, marching down the stairs to the bathroom to have a shower.

About ten minutes later: I go down to the loo and meet jossie on the stairs where she is not allowed, so I tell Jennifer. I get a reply to tell the dog off and that she will go out with her soon.

8:20ish The door slamms and I am going downstairs to have a breakfast, relieved that everything went smoothly. To my great surprise I find Jossie there, twisting her tail and looking at me with expectation of adventure!!!

It does not take a genius to work out, that the dog actually was not walked that morning. I can think of two alternatives:

Alternative one: a better one in a sense - Jenny let the dog to pee and crap in our backyard, which I'm strongly opposed to with a prospect of summer barbecues accompanied by the smell of dog excrements.

Alternative two: we will find a nice surprise on the carpet when we get home, because the poor creature could not hold it any longer...