Making an exhibition of oneself, in Brum

I enjoyed a rare day out on Wednesday, and it was rarer still, because it was work-related. I've been employed in my current part time position for around four and a half years, and apart from a four day spell helping to man the company trade stand in Cologne, at what was the world's largest dental show, I've been largely office-based. 

That changed the other day, when I took time out from my busy schedule, for a visit to a Health & Safety Event, at Birmingham's NEC. I'd received previous invites, of course, but when you are only on site for three days out of five, you have to manage your time very carefully, in order to squeeze everything in. I travelled up to Brum by train, taking advantage of an off-peak return, on Avanti West Coast, which offered a fair degree of flexibility. I know the company was paying, but it all comes off the bottom line, so there's no point in wasting money, just to get somewhere at the crack of dawn! I might do that, if I was going off on holiday, but I wouldn't do so for work, and certainly not for a trade show. 

A few observations before launching in to the main topic, and the first one was I enjoyed a fast and comfortable return train journey to Birmingham, along part of a route that I first travelled on back in my student days, when I was studying at Salford University. Avanti may have had teething issues when they first took over the West Coast franchise from Virgin, but from what I experienced the company has  certainly now got its act together.  The other observation is one I am not sure that I want to share with you, chiefly because it is an unwelcome reminder of growing old. 

The South Eastern service I took from Tonbridge was crowded, and whilst I could have got a seat, I wanted to speak to a work colleague first, concerning the successful resolution of a problem that had cropped up the day before. By the time our conversation finished, the train had called at Sevenoaks and taken on a further load of passengers. As I walked down the corridor, looking for an empty seat, a young lady obviously took pity on me, and offered me her seat. Thanking her for her kindness and consideration, I politely declined, not sure to be flattered or ashamed. Surely I didn't look that much in need of a seat? Later on, the same thing happened on the  Northern Line tube, between London Bridge and Euston. Talk about chivalry in reverse!

These events aside, the train dropped me at the NEC just after 11.30. I then made my way towards the exhibition halls, pausing to reflect that whilst the NEC does exactly what it says on the tin, it is just that - a series of interconnected concrete and metal sheds. What it isn't is somewhere to host a beer festival, and not just any old beer festival, but the UK's premier, national, beer-related event. I understand that CAMRA had to do something last year, when Olympia became unavailable, but a little thinking outside the box would have gone a long way. If you've ever been to Munich's world famous Oktoberfest, then you'll appreciate the effort that goes into staging the event, with the so-called "tents", in reality, large wooden temporary structures, that reappear every year. 

These rustic-looking buildings, designed to look like hybrids of a tent and a beer hall, are capable of accommodating large number of revellers, and supplying them with large quantities of beer, as well as food, in a matter that is efficient, cost-effective as well as atmospheric. Contrast the structures at Oktoberfest with the soulless NEC, or even Olympia and its predecessor, Earls Court, and you quickly realise that in over 40 years of running beer festivals, CAMRA has failed to learn there is more to such events than a massive list of beers that are often indistinguishable from one another. 

Rant over, because whilst totally wrong for a beer festival, and a flagship national one at that, the NEC delivered fully when it came to "The Health & Safety Event". There, under one roof, were stands exhibiting safety equipment, protective clothing (lots of boots and hi-vis jackets), systems, and virtually everything connected with keeping workers safe, whilst at work, whether that is indoors or outside. My main areas of interest were, systems and equipment to protect lone workers (not that we do much where people have to work alone, or out of hours). I also looked at provisions for first aid in the workplace, plus software for generating and managing risk assessments and method statements. I shan't bore you with any more details, but from my one point of view, as well as that of my employer, it was well worth my attending an event that certainly delivered on all fronts.

Being a warm day, it was nice to escape outside into the Piazza that is bounded by several of the inter-linked halls. It was where I took my genuine Cornish Pasty, courtesy of the Cornish Bakery chain. Their stand also delivered a fine cup of coffee as well, so a decent, and moderately-sized lunch, unlike last week's gargantuan offering at the Elephant's Head. 

After that, it was a short walk back to the station, where I purchased a return ticket to Birmingham New Street. The journey into central Brum was short too, lasting all of 10 minutes, but as the train approached New Street, I was somewhat surprised at the lack of progress in linking and converting, some of the mega-structures, associated with HS2, into a viable railway.

So now for the other main event, namely a few of Birmingham's finest hostelries. I'd done a spot of research, but as things turned out, it wasn't quite sufficient. I was aiming for a pub overlooking one of Birmingham's many canals, at a location known as Gas Street Basin. My route from New Street took me past the now sadly closed, Post Office Vaults, a pub which, as its name suggests is partly underground. It was the first pub, and initial meeting point, on the Proper Day Out in Birmingham, a stagger around some of Brum's finest alehouses. Looking back the event took place three years ago, a fact that both surprised and shocked me, but now, according to the notice on the door, the POV is no more, due to insolvency.

Onwards and upwards, I skirted the front of the imposing, Victorian Town Hall, now almost free of the scaffolding and netting that spoiled its appearance, back in April 2023. There was also a significant improvement in the weather, with sunny skies and warm temps, contrasting with the wind and rain of three years ago. 

What I hadn't banked on was the maze of roadworks and ensuing street closures, which made my way to the Waterside Tap something of nightmare. I'm not a fan of using my phone, for navigation purposes, preferring instead a good, old fashioned, paper map, but after a number of false starts, I felt I was getting somewhere, only to see, also online, that the pub wouldn't be open until 5pm! Checking at home, earlier today, that information appeared not to be true, which left  me wondering did I miss out on this attractive, canal-side alehouse, owned and run by Joule's Brewery.

Now I know that Stafford Paul isn't a massive fan of Joule's pubs - something to do with the amount of repro advertising, and artefacts adorning the walls, and other flat surfaces of the company's, but I was really looking forward to this one, and a pint or two of Joule's beers into the bargain. As for actually trying to find the pub, I decided to call it quits, especially as the website advising the late opening of this pub, was CAMRA's own. Reluctantly I retraced my steps, and headed back in the direction of the town hall, where I knew I'd find at least one, and probably more of the pubs on my provisional list. We're going to have to leave these pubs until next time, as I've waffled on, for rather longer than I originally intended, so, until then, then!

Two rural, Harvey's pubs, by train and bus, plus three seldom seen, Harvey's cask ales

It's been quite a while since I last set off on a beer-related, bus trip, the sort of outing that in the past, I've described as a "Pub Friday". With this is mind I was thinking where to go, especially as the weather this particular Friday was set to be unbroken sunshine. But where to go, and looking for inspiration I turned to a list of potential destinations that I'd drawn up, some time last year. I hit upon the last pub on that list, which was the Elephant's Head, in the tiny hamlet (if you can even call it that), of Hook Green, situated on the boundary between Kent and East Sussex.

The reason I chose that particular establishment was, it had been mentioned on the local WhatsApp Beer Chat Group, that I'm a member of. From memory, I knew that the Autocar 256 bus service, ran through Hook Green, as part of its route between Tunbridge Wells and Wadhurst, and I also knew there was a stop, more or less opposite the pub. 

So, with times pencilled in, I was then struck by the thought that if I took the train from Tunbridge Wells, to Frant, I could leave the rails close to the station, and switch to the road, for the final few miles of the journey. That particular plan did involve a 40 minute wait at nearby Bells Yew Green, just up the road from Frant station, but as luck would have it, services on that line were running late, which cut the waiting time at BYG, down to a much less arduous 15 minutes. 

The return journey worked out even better, as after taking the 13:45 bus from Hook Green, I could call in at the Brecknock Arms, prior to catching a train from Frant, straight through to my home in Tonbridge. These connections worked out well, even though the 256 bus was running 10-15 minutes late, in both directions, but that's buses for you! I'd used the service, several years ago, again for a visit to the Elephant's Head, and the day seemed very similar, even though the timing of this particular visit was a little later in the year.

Upon reaching the pub, I sat outside in the garden, enjoying the welcome sunshine, whilst waiting for the place to open, which it did, just before the stroke of midday. I held back for a couple of minutes, to allow the small group of drinkers who'd arrived by car, to get their beer orders in first. Call me sceptical, but I'm always slightly wary of that first pint out of the beer lines. As it happened, it wasn't a problem, although I'm fairly certain that those initial punters weren't drinking Armada, which was my first drink of choice. There was quite a line up from the Harvey's stable, on the bar with Old Ale, Porter, and Pell's Pale completing the line-up, but interestingly, no Sussex Best - unless that was available from the bank of pumps, in the other bar.

The Armada was in fine form, but before heading off to find a table, the landlady uttered the immortal words, "Will you be dining with us, today?" There was a reason for her question, as the pub was hosting a wake, for some, dearly departed soul, and whilst the event would be taking place in the conservatory, behind the pub, the kitchen was likely to be busy. Full marks, therefore, for her question. I opted for what I thought would be a relatively light lunch, but when my sausage and fried egg sandwich arrived, it turned out to a feast worthy of the most voracious of trenchermen. 

The photo saves a lengthy explanation, but I struggled to finish this gargantuan sandwich. (Note to kitchen, at Elephant's Head, one fried egg would have been ample, but two was just too much. The salad garnish, smothering half of the plate, was also excessive, whilst the doorstep slices of bread were much too dense, for my liking). The landlady mentioned that the pub baked its own bread, so I suspect my slices were taken from a loaf that was only partially baked, but full marks for trying, and apologies for coming across as a grumpy, old git.  

It wasn't long before the pub started filling up, and not all the arrivals were attending the wake. There seemed a good mix of customers, and whilst most seemed of retirement age, there were several who were obviously younger. Apart from me though, all had arrived by car. There are very few chimney pots in the vicinity, and only those who are tired of living would be foolhardy enough, to walk along the B2169 running between Bells Yew Green and Lamberhurst, where the notorious "Bayham Straight" acts as a magnet for every wannabe boy racer, in the area.

After my ginormous sandwich, another pint was called for, and this time the seasonal Porter was my drink of choice. As with the Armada, this full bodied, dark beer was also in good condition. There was just time for me to finish it, settle my tab, and then head along to the nearby bus stop. I arrived a good 10 minutes early, as I didn't want to be stranded at Hook Green, or even have to contemplate walking along the aforementioned Bayham Straight. Me being early, meant of course that the bus was late, and almost 15 minutes behind schedule, but the fact that it arrived was the main thing, and also there were no time constraints as far as the next pub was concerned. The pub in question was the well-known Brecknock Arms, situated just off the crossroads in Bells Yew Green, and just 5 minutes walk away, from Frant station. 

I've been using the Brecknock, on and off for the past forty plus years. It's convenient and easy to get to, being just three stops away, by train, from Tonbridge. It's a neat, and quite compact pub that has belonged to Harvey's, ever since I've known the place. There's been a few, relatively minor, internal changes, one of which was removing the partition wall between Public and Saloon bars, but this was a little haphazard, as all it did was to enlarge the former, whilst leaving the latter relatively unscathed. There's been a succession of different landlords as well, some obviously better than others. The jury is out on the current incumbent, primarily because I haven't made many visits to the Brecknock recently, and I have to say the pub seemed rather quiet when I called in, just before 2pm last Friday.

As with the Elephant's Head there was an interesting selection of Harvey's beers on the bar, including their relatively scarce, Dark Mild. The landlady pulled me off a pint, it tasted fine, so wishing to take advantage of the fine weather, I made my way through what used to be the Saloon bar, and out into the spacious and well-laid out garden at the rear of the pub. On my way through, I passed what I took to be the licensees family, all female, and with talk of babies it was a gentle reminder of a new arrival, on Eileen's side of the family. I was the sole occupant of the garden, but when I popped back inside, to return my empty glass, and use the facilities there was another customer (a mature male), in the bar chatting to the landlady about one of the live acts, due to appear soon, at the Brecknock.

There was a 20 minute wait for the London bound train, although with the sun shining it was pleasant sitting on a bench, waiting for the service to arrive. I'd mis-timed my journey to coincide with school chucking out, but the students (that's what you're supposed to call them these days), were well behaved, albeit a little noisy. Crossing the road outside Tonbridge station, and dodging the tidal wave of school kids, heading in the opposite direction, whilst thinking that the 219 bus, up to Bailey Towers must be due any moment, actually worked out well. The bus was running late (no surprises there), but again this worked in my favour, and I was dropped off at the top of my road. So, a successful "Pub Friday" outing which allowed me to spend time in two classic, but very different, Harvey's tied houses.  

Two Alta pubs, as the ice slowly melted

Apart from a thriving and modern shopping centre, there isn't that much to see in the town of Alta. In the previous post, we covered the town's location, its role as a well-protected naval anchorage, that provided a safe refuge for the Nazi battleship, Tirpitz, as well as its troubled history in the final weeks of World War II, but in what continues to be something of an enigma, we haven't really looked at why our cruise line decided to mark our visit with a two-day stay. Speculation remains that it was Alta's location, and reputation as a centre for snow-related outdoor activities, that appealed to the organisers of our Norwegian cruise, but leaving this aside, what attractions are there for those who live and work in the area?

My own, admittedly rather limited and somewhat biased research, was based on things that Alta can offer to beer lovers, like me, but in the end that didn't boil down to much either. I travelled into the town on both days of our stop-over in the spectacular setting of the Altafjord, taking thee free shuttle-bus on both occasions. My research had revealed just a couple of potential candidates in the form of a restaurant called Nori, and an establishment known as Puskas Platebar & Pub. This self-styled beer café was the clear winner, and was the place I patronised on the first day of my visit.

There was a real good feel to Puskas, with its well laid out, Scandinavian style interior, a good selection of Norwegian beers, plus a pleasant and friendly girl working behind the bar. She was chatty and informative, as well, and served me up a bottle of Dream Porter, from Oslo Brewery, which weighed in at 6.5%. She also fixed me a waffle, filled with slices of traditional, Norwegian brown cheese, plus a large dollop of sour cream. Describing the waffle as a traditional Norwegian bar snack, this tasty offering  proved more filling than it looked, and was also a good match for the porter, with its well-balanced mix of milk chocolate and liquorice flavours.

As well as its beer selection, Puskas was a place that specialised in vinyl. Just round the corner from the main bar, there was a separate area where punters could look through the pub's extensive record selection, and then buy any that took their fancy. I didn't realise this, until I got chatting to one of the pub's other customers, an individual who'd travelled to Alta on the same cruise ship as me, and confirmed by the girl behind the bar. 

This fella seemed pleased with his vinyl purchases, but not to the extent of revealing what they were. "Geeky", would be the right word, but each to their own, so as this fellow cruiser quite obviously didn't want to chat further, I left him to it. I was tempted to stay for another, but with an evening excursion booked to Helman Husky Lodge, I thought I'd better get back to the ship, grab a light evening snack from the buffet, don my thermals and then meet up on the quayside, with the rest of the party.

That excursion gave me my first sighting of the Northern Lights, but the morning after I took a further ride  into downtown Alta, primarily to pick up a few more goodies for Mrs PBT's. I was unable to persuade her to accompany me, a decision that given the slippery conditions underfoot was almost certainly the correct one. 

Arriving back in Alta I was surprised, and also disappointed at seeing how much snow had melted. Walking around in the slush wasn't what I'd anticipated from Alta. One of the tour guides later confirmed that the unseasonably warm temperatures were an anomaly, and really we should have been experiencing  temperatures of minus five to minus twenty! Whatever the reason for this "glitch" it was already starting to affect some of the local attractions, not least of which where the rather sorry-looking, snow sculptures, melting slowly outside one of the entrances to the shopping centre.

Undeterred, I grabbed a coffee from one of the interior kiosks, before having a further look around. Wanting to sample something different, I decided to give the ultra-modern looking Nori Restaurant a try. My prime reason for doing so was to grab something to eat, alongside a beer or two. Nori seemed  quiet when I pushed the door open and after waiting to be directed to a table, I enquired about a snack to go with the Tromso-brewed, Isbjorn Pilsner. I ordered a toasted Foccia, filled with avocado, olives and tomatoes, all very healthy, but what I really fancied was a couple of freshly filled, cheese cobs, as stocked, and served, straight from the bar at the legendary Great Western, in Wolverhampton!

Nori didn't get any busier, so after drinking up and finishing my Pilsner - supplied by the ubiquitous Mack Brewery, from Tromso. I settled my tab and headed off towards the town's gift shop, primarily because I wanted a souvenir fashioned from the locally quarried, and ultra-hard, grey slate. It's the mineral that the town is best know for, but, as I soon found out, it's most expensive sliver of rock. So, another fridge magnet to add to the growing collection at home. The shop was busy selling all sorts of souvenirs/tourist tat, but you don't go that far north without coming away with something local.

I then made my way back to the shuttle bus, and re-boarded the ship. I went up to the top deck with Eileen, after dinner, which was the time that the Northern Lights put in their second appearance. Mrs PBT's was especially pleased, as she'd missed out on this spectacular light show, the previous evening. We watched as our ship slowly slipped anchor, and began our departure from Alta. Little did we know this was going to be our last sighting of land for five days. Returning to the cabin Eileen mentioned our steward had warned that the sea was likely to be rough, once we left the sheltered waters of Altafjord, and had advised not to leave any glasses. full or otherwise in a place where they could slide off.

True to the steward's word, the seas became increasingly rough during the night, and the following morning we discovered that our ship would not be able to call at Narvik, as originally scheduled. The captain's midday announcement confirmed we would not be able to berth there, and worse still, the area of deep depression we were experiencing, was the first of several such weather systems. So, with no port to call at, we grudgingly settled down to five days of being tossed about on the high seas, experiencing the worst that the Norwegian Sea could throw at us.

Alta - a modern shopping centre, husky dogs, and the Northern Lights, experienced from the far northern tip of Norway,

After learning a bit more about some of the bizarre ceremonies associated with "Crossing the Line", we're off to Alta, the final destination on our recent cruise. I say final because Alta ended up being our last port of call, even though that honour should have gone to Narvik. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worst, after our ship departed from Alta, with the captain warning us of a number of deep depressions developing off the coast of Norway. This was a pity, as Narvik represented the final Norwegian coastal settlement, of any size, that we haven't visited during our two cruises to this part of Scandinavia.

Alta is considered the northernmost city in the world with a population surpassing 10,000. Alta is located in Finnmark county, at the inner end of the Alta Fjord and is the largest town in the region. Situated at approximately 70 degrees north, far above the Arctic Circle, the city serves as a regional hub and is surrounded by impressive mountains and forests. 

Alta is also the gateway to the vast Finnmarksvidda, which at 8,500 square miles is Norway’s largest mountain plateau. It is a functional town made up of several communities strung together along the E6 highway, but also serves as a centre of transportation in Finnmark county. The town's port facilities are situated along Altafjorden, just alongside Alta Airport, where there are direct flights to Oslo and certain other cities in Norway like Tromsø. Our ship was berthed close to the end of the runway, which gave us a good view of the planes landing, and taking off, even though there weren't that many flights in and out of the airport.

During the German occupation of Norway during World War II, Alta was a key strategic location for the Nazi forces. The battleship Tirpitz was based in the Altafjord for two years and served as one of the main threats against convoys delivering supplies from Western Allies to the Soviet Union. The area around Alta held the Nazi’s largest naval base outside of Germany during World War II. 

Alta was devastated at the end of the conflict, as the Nazis instituted as scorched earth policy in the wake of their retreat. The Germans felt pressure from an alliance between Finland and Russia and initiated a forced evacuation of the local people around Alta. About 45,000 people were forcibly relocated to the Tromsø area, and before they left, the occupying forces destroyed almost everything including buildings, infrastructure, mines and wells.

Modern day Alta has risen from the ashes of war, and now boasts a well-laid out town centre, that incorporates an extensive and modern shopping centre, and one that isn't dominated by multi-national retailers. I visited on both days of our stop-over in Alta, and whilst not normally a fan of shopping arcades, was impressed with what I saw. In the absence of much else, Alta's modern and well-laid out shopping centre, seemed to act as a magnet for the local populace, by drawing in people from all walks of life. 

There was also a number of cafes and bars - more about the latter, later, but if you live in an area that is perpetually dark for one part of the year, and then a location that remains light, for part of the summer, I imagine you will crave company and seek the comfort that goes with your fellow human beings - or some of them, perhaps!

Somewhat disappointedly, the weather was a good 10-15 degrees warmer than it should have been for late March, which meant that much of the snow had started to melt, something that was even more noticeable on the second day of our visit. This was quite noticeable, when I stepped down from the shuttle bus, and was saved from landing flat on my back, by a burly, local tour guide! Despite the slippery conditions underfoot, I made it across to Alta's ultra-modern place of worship. Known as Northern Lights Cathedral, this impressive church was consecrated on 10th February 2013. As well as a significant local landmark, the cathedral is visible from many parts of the city.

Apart from the shops, the cathedral, the bars, and the stunning scenery, there’s not a great deal in Alta to keep visitors occupied beyond a one-day stay, unless you’re a history buff, of course. So why, in common with other visiting cruise ships, stay for two day? The consensus seems to be, this is down to the large number of excursions available to passengers, most of which include outdoor, winter activities, such as dog sledding, or being pulled through the snow by horse-driven sleighs.

One such activity that I took part in, was a visit to the Holmen Husky Lodge, situated to the south of the city. The centre offers husky-pulled sled rides by day and accommodation in purpose-built glamping tepees, by night. I visited Holmen, not so much to see the huskies, but more so because I thought that the location of the lodge, away from the lights of the city centre, would offer the best chance of witnessing the famous, but elusive, Northern Lights. 

I was right too, as towards the end of a talk about the dogs, and their work, we were hurriedly called away from the warmth of the large tepee, we were sitting in, and out into the cold, dark night, to see the Aurora Borealis in all its glory! And the lights were certainly glorious, and well worth travelling to the far northern reaches of the globe, to have the chance of seeing them. What started as just a faint glow, soon sprang into life, and we were treated to a spectacular display of heavenly illuminations.  

The following evening, as our ship was preparing to set sail, we witnessed a further display, from the observation deck of our cruise liner. This time, Mrs PBT's was able to see the lights for herself and thus didn't feel cheated after missing them the previous night. Still to come, a few Norwegian beers enjoyed in a couple of far northern bars, plus some final observations on this wild and rugged part of northern Europe.

"Crossing the line" and becoming a "Blue Nose"

One feature of life aboard ship, that both Mrs PBT's and I were blissfully unaware of, was the strange ritual associated with crossing the line on the map, known as the "Arctic Circle". Whilst both of us had heard of crossing the equator, by passing from the northern hemisphere into the southern hemisphere, and vice versa, we naturally assumed that was it as far as "Crossing the Line" was concerned. We turned out to be wrong, and as our cruise ship steamed steadily northwards, we realised that by passing beyond the line know as the Arctic Circle, we were passing into another part of the globe, and by doing so, we found ourselves facing another seafaring tradition that was worth taking note of. 

The Arctic Circle marks the boundary for where you can experience the midnight sun in one part of the year, and the gloom of an Arctic winter at another. It's all due to the tilt of the earth's axis, and means that, the Arctic receives 24 hours of sunlight each summer, but 24 hours of darkness each winter. So, as with crossing the equator, traversing the Arctic Circle is another tradition that is marked, and quite often celebrated in nautical circles. The concept of commemorating line crossings is rooted in naval history. Sailors would engage in various ceremonial activities to mark the first time in their careers that they would navigate across prominent latitude boundaries – like the Equator, the Arctic Circle or its counterpart, the Antarctic Circle – as well as other important maritime milestones, like crossing the Panama Canal. So with those old matelots keen on letting their hair down, let's take a closer look at crossing this particular boundary. 

First the myth and legend behind such a crossing which, in the best naval tradition is designated as the “Order of the Blue Nose”. This seafaring tradition  dictates that when sailors cross into the Arctic Circle, they enter the realm of "Boreas Rex, King of the North", and the only way to be accepted into the order is to successfully complete his list of challenges. There is no fixed set of guidelines to celebrate crossing this crossing but, as the name “blue nose” suggests, it usually involves painting the nose of the participants in this colour, either by using dyes, paint or other blue-coloured substances. The term "Blue Nose” is self-explanatory, and hints, none too subtly, that some form of exposure to icy-cold water is about to take place, leaving the recipient with a "Blue Nose", and possibly other blue extremities!

It was Mrs PBT's who spotted a notification in the daily newsletter, distributed to all cabins, regarding traversing the Arctic Circle and inviting all passengers to witness and join in with the ceremony, up on the pool deck. We duly turned up, although with a stiff northerly wind blowing, and temperatures hovering just above freezing, it wasn't a day for getting wet, or for removing warm clothing. A handful of people, drawn from the ship's entertainment company, were in charge of the ceremony. They were dressed in a variety of different costumes, although one was clearly supposed to be King Neptune, one was a pirate, whilst the third was a bearded bloke, quite clearly in drag, with a long blonde wig, and a party frock! After a speech or two, volunteers, willing to become "blue noses", were called forward. Varying amounts of ice-cold water, drawn straight from the unheated swimming pool, were splashed, or even tipped over the, it must be said, quite willing volunteers, although Mrs PBT's and I had no desire to join them. It was cold enough just standing out on the pool deck, whilst wrapped up in a thick, insulated coat, topped off with a woolly hat. It was a bit of fun, and whilst the pair of us didn't technically qualify as "Blue Noses", at least in spirit, we did in reality. 

Looking back, it reminded me of the time when I crossed another of these significant, but imaginary lines, drawn across the surface of the globe. The date was March 2007, and I'd just booked a week's break for myself, in the Maldives. The holiday came at the end of a very stressful period in my life, which involved starting work for my current employer, whilst at the same time overseeing the sale of the off-licence business that Eileen and I had been running in Tonbridge, for the previous five years. I was putting in the 8 - 5 hours at my new employer, whilst looking after the off-licence in the evening and at weekends. Finding a buyer for the business was relatively straight forward, but dealing with the legal side was the complete opposite. With three sets of solicitors involved, you can imagine the stress behind both the business sale, and the complications of re-assigning the lease on the property, to the new owners. It was small wonder that I needed a break, once the whole thing was concluded, and the thought of disappearing to somewhere hot and sunny, on the other side of the world, was what kept me going through those dark, autumn and winter days.

So where did the crossing the line come into things? Well, the Maldivian resort selected for me, by the travel company, was a further 90 minutes flight from Male - capital of the Maldives, so after an 11 hour flight from Gatwick, I found myself boarding another aircraft, but this time a small, twin-prop plane with a capacity of 15-20 passengers. It was a smooth and relaxing flight, and en route to our chosen resort we passed over quite a few other coral atolls, some of which had been developed as resorts, whilst others just left to grow wild. Approximately half-way though the journey, the cabin crew advised that we were about to cross the equator, and as a memento of this event, we were all given a certificate, commemorating our "Crossing of the Line". I still have that certificate tucked away somewhere at home, but no matter where it is, it represents one of the two, significant lines of latitude, I have crossed in my lifetime.