Three months on...

Wow. Another month has gone by. And what a month. Highs, lows, busy times, quiet times. They've all been there. And then today, as I prepared to write this post, I got a fantastic email.

Ages ago, I filled in a survey for Mapumental, and of course totally forgot about it. But apparently there was a prize draw attached to this one, and my name was drawn to win a £50 donation to the charity of my choice. Guess which one I chose... That makes £1682 for the June Hancock Mesothelioma Fund. Hurrah!

A couple of weeks ago my husband David and I took a weekend out to go back to my hometown for a visit. We had a particularly good day out with my Mum and Gran, driving through the nearby countryside and visiting places I hadn't seen in years. On Sunday we also had a little wander over to Southampton Common where this lovely chap posed for me and showed off his fabulous feet.


I haven't really talked about coots and their place in the relationship with Dad. Perhaps I'll leave that for another time
As often happens, the childhood photos made a brief appearance. While David amused himself by threatening to make pictures of me on a potty in the woods public, I was a little more taken with this one.

Two months on...

The walk feels like such a long time ago. My legs are now pretty much back to normal, the joint pain I was having last month has gone, and the only thing that seems to keep the whole adventure real is the map on the kitchen wall that I still haven't had the heart to take down.

In the last month since I wrote here I have taken part in a flamenco performance, continued singing pop songs in choir and been rather busy at work. In short, life has gone on. In the last month there has also been a Fathers' Day.

I don't think I ever celebrated Fathers' Day when dad was alive. I think he had the same opinion of it as the one he held for Valentine's Day: another hollow opportunity for consumerism. Or at least that's how he presented it - I'm sure he'd actually quite like to have had a shoddily made card from me of course and maybe I should have made one for him. Ah well. The opportunity has gone now.

Anyway, here's a little photo I found which must have been taken when I was maybe 13 or 14. It shows us during a day out to the Lost Gardens of Heligan. This is how I remember time with Dad.

TOTY: Number Two

It's the night before the night before. I'm already super-nervous, and once again I'm reflecting on the past year to avoid thinking about Sunday. This highlight is a happy by-product of this Challenge and of writing this blog. I've really enjoyed this part, so thanks for listening.

Number Two: The bit where I got to share my dad with you
Maybe it was a bit self indulgent of me to start posting pictures of Dad on holiday and necklaces he had made me, but as I found myself thinking about him as I walked it seemed natural to write about him afterwards.

Of course, I didn't really think about people paying attention to my whitterings. I was just jotting them down as they came to me.

But then a pair of my Dad's socks were put in a cabinet in one of my favourite museums and suddenly it felt like I was having a chat with more than just myself.


So, as I haven't shared anything for a while, I thought I'd let you see one of my most treasured posessions.

This is my Dad's copy of The Golden Gift Book, a collection of stories that he read when he was a boy and used to read to me when I was little. Some of the stories are utterly fantastic. My favourite was The Cockatoucan - the story of a bird that turned a kingdom upside down every time it laughed.


You can see that Dad enjoyed this story too - he's coloured in the pictures
I think my favourite reversal in the story was when the palace was turned into a butcher's shop, and the king 'who was too wise to fight against fate, had tucked up his royal robes and was busy in the shop weighing out six ounces of the best mutton chops'. There is also a fantastic moment when the king is turned into a villa residence.

Anyway, the part of this book that I really love now is the bookplate in the front.


Dad gave me this book (and its sister, Princess Mary's Gift Book) shortly before he died. I will always treasure it, and I hope that one day I will get to read the stories to someone who is just as captivated as I was.

That traditional panic.

It has reached that point in the year when all those things you need to do just won't seem to fit into the time you've got to do them. For me, training consistently is one of them.

But I'm still doing the walk next year. I'm just going to take a couple of weeks off from this blog so I can sort out all the other bits of my life without feeling guilty about not writing here.

Back soon,
Kate x

183 days to go...I'm halfway through my year's preparation!

It's been 182 days and 378.05 miles since I announced my plans to walk those 78 miles around the Capital Ring. I've also acquired two pairs of trainers, one broken toe and gone through a hell of a lot of sports drink. So, I guess it's about time that I properly opened up my fundraising.

You can visit my fundraising page at justgiving.com/wardwalkslondon

I'm not expecting everyone to rush out there and pledge, but there's an option to act impulsively if you want to. I'm sure I'll be plenty of other opportunities in the next 6 months!

Just a quick reminder about my chosen charity. The June Hancock Mesothelioma Research Fund was set up in 1997 to do each of the following:

• Encourage and sponsor research into mesothelioma;
  
• Contribute to clinical trials of novel drug therapies for mesothelimoa;
  
• Raise awareness of the disease amongst healthcare professionals and the public;
  
• Provide good quality up to date information and advice for mesothelioma sufferers and their carers;
  
• Campaign for delivery of the Mesothelioma Charter.

Mesothelioma is a relatively rare cancer, usually caused by exposure to asbestos, which attacks the membrane that covers most of the internal organs in the body, the mesothelium. The cancer usually develops in the lining of the lungs, the pleura, and it develops rather quickly. Treatment has limited sucess, and lifespan from diagnosis is short - we only had a few months with Dad before he died. You might have read a bit about the bleakness of mesothelioma when Malcolm McLaren died earlier this year, but there's more about malignant mesothelioma on wikipedia.

It's a terrible cancer. But I think we can make some difference here, so if you want to give me a jump start on donations, please do!

Things.

The Wellcome Collection is one of my favourite places to visit. They always have amazingly interesting exhibitions and there's always something new to see in their permenant collection. It's one of those museums that perhaps gets overlooked a little too often. If you're in London, you shouldn't overlook it. You should visit it now!

And while you're there, you can go and see something that I've put in the museum myself...

Things is an endeavour by artist Keith Wilson to update Henry Wellcome's already eccelectic collection. Members of the public can gift or loan items they think should be displayed, and they will be catalogued online before being put in the gallery. Items are catalogued in a calendar of next year's dates. I managed to get mine put on 1st May 2011.


This was my contribution. You can go here to read about my submission, but I'm also quite excited to see that they've been featured on the Wellcome Collection's blog.

If you can't get to the collection to see the Things for real (it's only on until the 22nd October) take a little time to explore what's been submitted online. Some of the Things people have donated are sad, some hilarious, and some just plain bonkers. But all of them worth a look.

Introducing Luigi.

This last week has been one of those glorious weeks that remind you how great life is. My week started with a quarter share in a substantial pub quiz jackpot and ended with a fantastic weekend away at the zoo where I was married for my first anniversary. These alone would have been enough to send me to smug and cause me to forget all my walking woes.

But on Wednesday I had dinner with my sister, George. This in itself was lovely enough, but towards the end of the evening she handed me a wooden box. Inside was a small carved wooden man, jointed and dressed in a tiny suit. He had a piece of grey fur for hair, blue eyes and painted on rosy cheeks. His tiny shoes had little leather heels and you can still just about see where the strings were when he was a fully strung puppet.


George was given Luigi, as we now know his name is, by Dad shortly before he died. Dad made him when he was about 8 and must have had him hidden away since then as neither George, my Mum or I can remember seeing him before. Mum does remember Dad telling her about him though, and that's how we know about his Italian moniker.

He's an incredibly detailed piece of work, of such a level that at first I doubted that it could be an 8-year-old's craftsmanship - I've got a bit of puppet making experience, but I'm pretty certain that I couldn't create anything quite like this even now. But then I know that Dad had far more patience in his work than I have ever had.

My own interests mean that Luigi's appearance makes me feel as though I've had a little chat with Dad - a little shared experience. But it's strange to learn something new about your Dad, four years after he went silent. Good strange though.
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In walking news, I managed 2 miles last night. I could have continued but I was pushed for time and the foot was starting up its dull ache. I think it's telling me that I'm going to have to take it slow and steady to get back to my usual routine, so the first marathon will have to be postponed until November.

Ward Walks Home*

* Er, actually, I'm not fit enough to do that one yet. London to Southampton is about equivalent to the distance of my challenge next year. Not ready for that!

I went back to Southampton this weekend to spend an evening with my mum (although I'm sure she won't mind me saying that the main draw was seeing Jim Moray and Cara Dillon at the Eastleigh Music Festival on Friday really...) and took the opportunity to take my training to my home city.

Or rather, around my home city.

Saturday afternoon was spent walking 15 miles which took me around Southampton Sports Centre, Common, town centre, marina and docks. I took some pictures to stop myself obsessing about the oppressive heat and worrying about blisters.

As usual, you can see them nice and big (and with a few little stories in the descriptions) on my Flickr.

It was an afternoon with some pretty intense memories and sometimes I just wanted to stop and reflect for a bit. I don't like stopping, but I allowed myself a few moments to do just that at the boating lake on Southampton Common.

Back in 2003, I spent the first term of the last year of my degree on Southampton Common. I mapped every square based on memories and discoveries and it became QuiteCommon.com. It wasn't an entirely successful project, and I wince at some of the spelling mistakes on there, but it did provide me with many happy memories.

One day in early November, I took Dad to the boating lake to sail homemade boats just as he had done when he was a boy. The only difference was that he had told me stories of beautiful balsa wood constructions, and I had provided two tiny paper ones.

We cycled from our house to the Common and cautiously launched our crafts. Then we spent a good hour or so sitting on a bench nearby laughing ourselves stupid. Our boats had sunk almost immediately and a big motorised boat came along and stole the limelight.

Afterwards we went home and had a number of cups of tea at the kitchen table and laughed some more. It was a good day.

Something was missed...

So, apparently it was Fathers' day yesterday. I don't think I ever really celebrated it when I was growing up (sorry Dad, you missed out on years of crappy homemade presents!) and, of course, I don't really observe it now. But I thought that I'd make a little Dad post for today to acknowledge it.
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I reckon every kid goes through a stage where they're fascinated by ancient Egypt. Whether it's the gruesome mummification process or the awesome architecture that provokes interest, I reckon it always surfaces at some point.

My fascination seemed to go on longer than most. I was given books about Egypt, and taken on trips to museums to see exhibits about Egypt. I practiced writing my name in hieroglyphs and I remember asking my Dad to make me an ankh several times. My own crafts were predominately Egypt flavoured, including a board game based on the afterlife and a foam headed stick puppet of Tutankhamun. As you can see I was fairly solidly obsessed for a good number of years, even thinking that I might like to be an Egyptologist at the point I went to secondary school. This faded pretty quickly after my interests rather dramatically widened.

Some years after the main appeal had subsided, Dad and I visited Egypt together. It was the year 2000 and I was an awkward 17 year old who was not dealing well with the heat. But the trip was still incredible. I keep meaning to dig out old photos from the time where Dad is dressed like an archeologist from the 1920s. Not a costume, just the way he liked to dress on holiday.

After the Egypt holiday, although I can't quite remember when, Dad gave me a little blue plastic jewellery box, with the pixelated image of an Egyptian woman stuck to the front (I know Mum must have helped with that bit, he had no idea how to work a computer). On opening the case I found this:



It was the ankh I had asked for all those years previously! Carved out of a piece of mahogany and wrapped with silver wire, it's beautifully simple.

This didn't come out of the box very often for some time after I was given it, but I've been wearing this necklace quite a lot recently. It reminds me of Dad's enormous creativity, and the shear surprise I felt on opening the box. I like to imagine him working away on it in the garage, chuckling to himself over how long it had taken to get around to making it. I hope he knew just how much I adored both the sentiment and the necklace itself.

Footsteps.

My Mum came to visit me a couple of weekends back, and brought me some photos I thought I would share with you.



These are pictures of Dad in Morocco in 2005. You can click to see them bigger, if you like.

In that first one, Dad's walking in the Atlas mountains in his faithful walking shoes. Dad really enjoyed the holiday, and came back brimming with stories like an explorer back from some undiscovered land.

Mum and I went back to Morocco in the April after Dad died, to Taroudant and Essaouira. At the time I was a little cynical about the trip. Sure, I thought, it'll be lovely to have a holiday, but secretly I was worried about feeling as though I was on some sort of pilgrimage. By the time I got there, I forgot all of that and just enjoyed myself. It was a lovely holiday and it was wonderful to see the places that Dad fell in love with. Walking through the Atlas in Dad's walking shoes was a real highlight for me, and I couldn't bear to brush the Moroccan dust of them for some time after we returned.

I've put a few other pictures from my parents' Morocco holiday (including one of Mum - hope you don't mind!) in my Flickr. There's also a set of my really bad camera phone photos from our later visit.

Inheritance.

When Dad passed away, I inherited something pretty special. His walking shoes.

Truth be told, I'd been stealing pairs of shoes from him for years (his long sheepskin lined brown leather Bally boots were, and are, a favourite of mine) and I was well practiced at sneaking away pairs of his nice wool socks. But this great pair of Brashers are something special.

Since I inherited them they've been everywhere I could possibly conceive needing a good pair of sturdy shoes. They've walked the Atlas mountains of Morocco twice (once on Dad's feet, and once on mine), got soaked through in the Lake District and, at the start of this year, joined me on a short walk through snow on the Pennines.

But as great as they are at walking off road, I don't think they're ideal for the challenge ahead.

So I'm going to a specialist running shop this week to get my walk assessed and find a flexible pair of lightweight trainers to start the serious training in. I feel strangely nervous about this purchase and almost feel like I'm cheating on my Dad's shoes. Hopefully these feelings will fade once my feet are more comfortably shod.

Introducing...

It's my birthday this weekend, so I thought I'd take a self-indulgent opportunity to introduce to you the silent contributor to this blog.

I was my dad's fourth child, born rather late in his life and quite some time after the previous three - I was his 50th birthday present. I was lucky to be able to spend a lot of time with him, when he was a work-from-home architect and later when he retired, and many happy hours were spent sitting at the kitchen table discussing anything and everything. We shared a love of strong tea to keep us going through the late night chats.

This walk is one of those hair-brained ideas that one of us would have had at 1am, only to discard it as ridiculous by the morning.* Now that he's not here, I feel as though I can't dismiss these schemes quite so readily. Maybe that's why I'm actually going through with one of them...

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* We once spent a good couple of hours discussing the practicalities of cycling the end-to-end on a tandem during one of these talks - even down to who would be at the front and who at the back and whether we'd camp or use B&Bs. Luckily for both of us it was vetoed over breakfast.