Those good people at Moo have come up with another cool way to enjoy your photographs. They started with MiniCards (some of mine are pictured right) which are half-sized business cards that you can decorate with your own pictures (whether they be from Flickr or elsewhere). You can put what you like on the back of them and they’re the sort of thing you can give out at parties or just randomly show off to people. Very nice.

So as soon as I heard they’d come up with moo StickerBooks I went straight to the site and ordered myself some. I had no idea what I’d do with them but the good thing about stickers is that you can stick them to virtually anything! Here’s what they look like:

They come on little tear-out pages with 6 to a page and the book contains 90 stickers in total. You can choose as few or as many different photos as you like. For a fiver per book they’re a bargain so I got 2 to get me started! As usual with moo the quality is excellent and I’m looking around the office at the moment for things to stick them to. Expect to see a moo sticker stuck on something near you soon!

I mentioned a short while ago that I was planning on doing the Yorkshire 3 Peaks walk with a friend of mine (Stuart, pictured right with Whernside many miles in the distance) and on Friday that’s just what we did. To recap, this is a 25 mile hike taking in three 700m peaks in Yorkshire (Pen-Y-Ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough). It’s a particularly popular walk (on a weekend you can often see hundreds of people doing it) and seems to be one of these things people do for charity rather a lot. Every time I mentioned to people I was off to do it they’d ask me where my sponsorship form was! I just like doing things like this for the challenge, I don’t need a reason.

Since it’s not been the best summer for weather I wasn’t expecting sunshine all the way and I was not wrong. You’re supposed to check in at the cafe at Horton-in-Ribblesdale for both safety reasons (so you can check out again and they know you made it) and so you can get a card punched with your official time. Since we appeared at 9.30am the rather unfriendly bloke working there told us we were too late - they stopped letting people clock in at 9.10 (despite that the sign on the window said 9.30). A traditional warm Yorkshire welcome it wasn’t. I suggested to Stuart we throw a brick through their window with our times written on at the end but we decided against it!

We started up Pen-y-Ghent and were greeted with cloud and strong winds - not a problem. I was more focused on the 8 mile walk from the summit to the next hill, Whernside, so as far as I was concerned this was the warm up. Once we got to the top we were in the middle of a cloud (Stuart had foolishly said he’d never been to a trig point in clouds before which guaranteed that we would be). And then the long march to Whernside began. Naturally the heavens opened and we were hammered by strong winds combined with very heavy rain / hail which kept us entertained!

I’d been warned that the bog between these two hills was extremely hard going so decided to take a route around the worst part. This meant spending a short while actually walking in the opposite direction to Whernside, but it turned out to be the right choice as we made good time. After what seemed like forever (you can see Whernside in the photo at the top of this article and it’s miles away - and we were halfway there when I took it) we made it to the Ribblehead Viaduct (below) which is quite an impressive structure and served as our lunch spot:

Both of us were quite weary by this point and not entirely looking forward to the long drag up Whernside. But after a bite to eat we felt a lot better and carried on. Since we were into our stride it didn’t seem to take long at all and around 6 hours after we’d started we were standing on top of peak number 2. The clouds had cleared from Pen-y-Ghent and we could see just how far away it was and couldn’t believe we’d just walked it - it would have been a long drive!

We’d set a pretty good pace from the start that seemed fast enough that we wouldn’t be spending all day out but not too fast that we’d burn out. The descent from Whernside is short and direct, but rather steep. Highlight of the day was catching up to a mother, her mother and her young son (must have been about 4 years old). The young lad had a sheep’s jaw in hand and held it out to me asking what it was - I then told him and he informed me he was going to take it home with him to “scare granny” which made his mother and grandmother laugh. I then suggested he carry my bag for me to scare him but he thought it was too heavy and declined. He was full of energy and he’d just been to the summit too - it’s amazing what kids can do!

After another food stop we made the push to the summit of Ingleborough and the last of the day. Much of the route up the hill is on a very well made path - a line of large stone blocks making light work of the bog you’d be dragging yourself through if they weren’t there. Then the sting in the tail - a steep scramble onto the summit ridge which just about finished Stuart and made my thighs feel as if someone had set them on fire!

Following the thigh-bursting climb (I figured that if I went as fast as I could the pain would be over sooner) it was a short walk through the thick clouds to the trig point and shelter from the cold wind where Stuart took the following photo of me to demonstrate that I was quite tired:

And then it was time for my secret weapon. You should always have a secret weapon with you. You don’t have to use it, but if you have one you at least know you can. I had packed 2 cans of caffeine-loaded Red Bull to give us a boost if we were really shattered. I cracked one open and passed it to Stuart. I only had a few sips because it tastes so utterly terrible and for some reason I actually felt pretty good anyway. The secret weapon worked! Once we started on the trail back to where we started Stuart’s energy levels went back up again and we were forging ahead at our normal pace.

We found a sign post that claimed Horton in Ribblesdale was 1.5 miles away but I had both a map and after years of hiking the ability to know pretty much how far I’ve travelled over a given period of time. And both told me that it was more like 3.5 miles! All day whenever we saw a sign the distances were wrong by as much as 100% - I’ve no idea why.

So 10 hours and 50 minutes after we started, we got back to the car and sat down. The relief of getting off our feet was very nice indeed. But more impressive was that we didn’t actually get any blisters between us! I walked in my trusty old army boots and had brought 3 pairs of socks - changing them after each hill - which helped keep my feet in good condition. Stuart just had a decent pair of hiking boots (army boots aren’t really that good by comparison to a modern pair of hiking boots, they’re a compromise so you can run in them at the expense of stiffness).

I’m fairly sure we can break 10 hours if we do it again. I must have spent a solid 20-30 minutes map reading throughout the day. Stuart probably spent 15 minutes opening and closing his bag (he has one of these fancy high tech bags with 50 clips you have to close just to shut the thing). And with better ground conditions and weather we’d have been able to maintain a higher pace. But considering everything and that it was our first time I’m rather pleased with our progress.

I really enjoyed the day. To do it on our own, with nobody else around, navigating every step of the way, was satisfying. To know that even 10 years after I used to eat 25 mile hikes for breakfast I can still do it made me feel pretty good. To battle through atrocious weather and just have a laugh about it shows good spirit. And to do something that pushes you beyond your limits with a friend and share that experience is what life’s all about.

You see, you don’t need to queue outside a book shop at 1am on a Saturday morning to pick up your copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, you can just have a lie in, walk to your local village supermarket and pick a copy up there!

Of course, I won’t be reading it, although my good lady will. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the fascination and wonder these books give to children - I read all about magic and wizards as a 9 year old when I read the Wizard of Earthsea trilogy by Ursula Le Guin. These books really captured my imagination and the plot lines bear a striking similarity to the Harry Potter books (a kid with magical powers, a nemesis that you just know the protagonist is going to have a battle with at the end, a school for wizards, not playing by the rules, the character growing up through the series and developing in much the same way as Mr Potter and so forth). But of course the stories are quite different.

However as an adult I find that mere escapism or fantasy in a book isn’t enough to keep my interest. I like to read a book that makes me think, challenges my brain and keeps me guessing up until the end, maybe even makes me learn something along the way. I want to relate to the characters, get into their heads - but I don’t particularly want to get into the head of children half my age!

Having seen the films and heard my good lady talking about the books I find the Potter tales a bit too predictable and obvious. However that’s just me. Many millions of adults have enjoyed reading these books and there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s great to see people reading books (most of the adults I know don’t read books at all). Not to mention all the children that have had their imagination inspired and their minds opened to new and exciting possibilities in ways that only captivating books can.

I notice - ironically - that Ms Le Guin has now written a further 3 books since the trilogy I read was written. I’d be half tempted to buy the 6 and read them all the way through. Either it’d recapture some of the wonder I had as a child or I’d be disappointed that the wisdom of growing older has dampened that spirit in me. I hope it would be the former but sadly I suspect it would actually be the latter. Just like Harry Potter himself, once you grow up and lose that innocence and wonder at the world, you can never get it back.

I know it’s a British preoccupation to talk about the weather but I generally try to steer clear of the topic. If you get obsessed with the weather you forget about the fact that you shouldn’t let the weather dictate what you do with your time. Just because it’s raining and isn’t sunny doesn’t mean you can’t go hiking or biking. And just because it’s baking sunshine doesn’t mean you should sit indoors all day watching TV or waste the day sunbathing.

However this summer in particular is worth a mention because in Britain it’s been (so far) the worst summer of the past 30 years or so. Since I can only remember the last 30 years of summers I wouldn’t like to say it’s the worst for a longer period - even though I expect it is.

Every day is that same. I get into my car to drive to work, it’s 9-11C, it’s cloudy and it’s raining. Every day. Every time I look out the window it’s cloudy and raining, or cloudy and has just been raining, or it’s cloudy and it’s just about to start raining. When I drive home there are rain clouds overhead. When I play football it’s cloudy and almost inevitably will rain at some point. The point here is that there are no blue skies. Rain is never more than an hour away. And the average temperature is about what it is in autumn. It’s pathetic.

My stringent measure of a nice day, a John Conners Nice Day seems like a relic from a long gone era of four seasons in the UK. The chances of experiencing a full day with not a cloud in the sky where I live is completely zero.

With clouds constantly overhead it’s like living in a monochromatic world (that’s black and white) since with all the light from the sun filtered out by low lying clouds, everything is painted with a grey tinge. It’s terrible for photography, which is why my Flickr site hasn’t had a lot posted to it lately. My grass is a grey shade of green, the trees are grey and even the blue tits nesting in my garden look like grey tits (if such a bird exists).

When I was a kid the summers seemed to go on forever. We had hose pipe bans simply because it didn’t rain for 2 months. There were weeks of John Conners nice days and if I wasn’t careful I’d get sunburned. Nowadays the only risk I get in the UK is if I make a sliding tackle at football and get burned by the AstroTurf!

A friend of mine is convinced that global warming is a government conspiracy and that while its existence is completely unproven it’s being used as a vehicle to shape policy and squeeze more money out of Joe Public for a seemingly worthy cause. Such as “let’s tax cars more because of global warming”. While I laughed him off as being paranoid and a member of the tinfoil hat brigade, I’m starting to think that maybe he’s got a point. Or maybe I’m just bitter and twisted because my considerable collection of shorts and t-shirts are remaining unworn and sitting in my wardrobe. Like the title says - worst summer ever.

My good lady decided to go out for a bike ride along the canal side near our house. It wasn't raining and she fancied some exercise with a bit of fresh air thrown in. A billion Chinese can't be wrong! (I think the saying goes something like that).

So twenty minutes later when I'd just stepped back indoors after servicing my bike (which I'd been meaning to do for ages) she returns out of breath, throws her bike to the ground and demands that I go upstairs, get a warm jumper and a rucksack. I could tell she was in a bit of a state so just went and did as she asked. She then explained - while catching her breath - that she'd found a woman trying to commit suicide by drowning herself in the canal and that she'd left her with another passer-by but needed to get back with some dry clothes. I wasn't expecting that.

I asked if she wanted me to come back with her or call the police but she said no and to leave her to it. Which I dutifully did. Another half an hour later and my good lady returned in a different state than before. You see, when she was rushing back on her bike to the soaking woman she nearly got hit by a car, fell off and slid along the ground, grazing and bruising herself quite badly in the process. But tough little soldier that she is, she carried on, made sure the woman was ok, and then came home. And now it was my turn to look after her.

She had dirt ground in the palms of her hands, he shoulder was red raw, her knee was bruised and grazed and her ankle was lightly sprained. And all this from a relaxing bike ride in the country!

The woman had had a really bad turn of luck (to say the least) and was clearly at the end of her tether. We just hope that she gets the help that she needs and comes through it stronger. And the next time my good lady goes for a bike ride, I'm damn well coming with her!

So last night I was tucking away into some poached eggs lovingly made by my good lady. The toast was well buttered and the eggs were perfectly poached (i.e. still a bit runny). All was well until I cut into the second of the two eggs and was presented with the following sight:

I’m not sure how well you can tell from the picture (I’d already eaten the other egg which would have helped for comparison) but the egg yolk is completely white with not even a hint of yellow! The egg was well within its sell-by date and the other one (from the same batch) was just fine. Has anybody come across such a phenomenon before?

Update: Andy B has a better photo of a white egg yolk compared to a normal one in his comment below.

Fresh from watching our duck taking her chicks away we continued our weekend by attending the annual Skipton Sheep Day. This event is held on the first Sunday of July every year and it took us several years to actually attend. Every year since I moved to Yorkshire I'd see the sign a couple of weeks before Sheep Day and realise I was away that weekend and couldn't make it. Then a couple of years ago we made sure we were around to attend and it was well worth it. From the sheep shearing to the owl demonstrations to the duck herding (yep, you heard it right). It was a wonderful afternoon although I forgot to bring my camera. Not so this time! Cue some more cute duckling photos (I've seen more ducklings this weekend than in a year):

Last year we were away on Sheep Day (as usual) but this time our friends were staying with us so we just had to take them along. Since there's been rather a lot of rain lately it came as no surprise that it torrentially rained most of the day. However the skies cleared as soon as the sheep dogs came out to show us their stuff. Since Sheep Day takes place in the middle of the high street, there isn't enough room to demonstrate them herding sheep so ducks and geese have to suffice instead.

This was very entertaining as they really didn't want to play along - they were like naughty children - and the sheep dog had to work twice as hard as it should have!

After the ducks and geese were herded and cajoled into their pens it was time for some good old-fashioned sheep shearing. Instead of using the high-tech electric shears they demonstrated the old-fashioned ones which involved wrestling the sheep to the ground, holding it fast and carefully giving it a short back and sides with a pair of giant scissors. I think it's one of these things that looks easy but in fact requires a certain knack to do!

What's surprising is that the average fleece is only worth around 35p which gives you an idea of the fine margins farmers work under these days. Sounds like a tough way to make a living if you ask me. Anyway, there was also a farmers market (where we spent a bit of money) and some sort of show going on but the thunderstorms were coming back and our friends had to head home so we left. But we'll be back next year for more - and if you're anywhere near Skipton on the first Sunday in July I suggest you go along too!