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Saturday, June 01, 2002
I’ve said it before: I love looking at maps. For a few weeks I’ve been looking at the map of the western edge of the Teign valley, wondering what the roads around the reservoirs are like. Today I found out. They are glorious.

Today was the first day of unbroken sunlight for weeks. Today was the first day of real warmth for the same amount of time. So who cares if the wind was strong? It wasn’t cold. I filled two bottles and headed out into the countryside, determined to explore new roads.

There are lots of little single and double black arrows on the OS map of the western side of the Teign valley. This means the roads are steep. Maps don’t lie. My legs can vouch for that. The climb up to Bridford is long and steep but it’s more than worth it because the views are terrific, although of course I didn’t really see them because my back was to them. Oh well. There’s some massive old farmhouses out there too, hidden away beside lanes that probably don’t see much traffic beyond a couple of tractors and a clutch of Range Rovers a week. Sometimes I think it would be fun to live in such a place, but then I think of how far it would be to the record store and I think again.

The reservoirs are gorgeous, although it took a while for me to find the right road to reach them, such is the nature of road-layout in Devon. They were amazingly quiet too, for a sun drenched Saturday in June. Maybe everyone was watching soccer on the telly somewhere. Or maybe people just don’t want to drive their cars along those lanes. I wouldn’t blame them, and I’m glad they don’t. It leaves everything free for people like me to enjoy all the more.

After riding round the reservoirs, the road(s) dip back down towards the valley, through Hennock and Teign Village. Finally I was facing the right direction to really see the view. I was stunned. It was totally awesome. The land was all stretching out in front of me, falling away down the steep hillsides, out and down, across to Chudleigh, and nestled in its valley of fallen leaves, Trusham. Lawrence Castle shone blindingly white to the north, and I felt like the luckiest person in the entire world. Dropping through Hennock reminded me of riding through hillside Cypriot villages, only greener and festooned with red, white and blue bunting. Teign Village (it’s really only a single street of terraced houses) was the same, and seeing the bunting and the flags almost made me wish I could care about the Jubilee. As Kevin Rowland once said, ‘sometimes I almost envy the need, but can’t see the prize’. But, as the great man also sang in another moment of great clarity, ‘my national pride is a personal pride’. Indeed.

But it is kind of nice to see all the colour in the streets. Even if it’s not even close to matching the levels of decoration that happened in 1977, or, for that matter, the Queen’s coronation back in 1952. I saw some cine footage of the town I teach in (Tiverton) from that time and it was astonishing. Every available surface was festooned in crepe paper and flags. Completely crazy.

The climb up the eastern side of the valley was easier, but my legs were really complaining by this time, after two hours or so of riding (note to self: must do more longer rides…) . It was also warm enough for the tarmac to start melting slightly, resulting in that lovely sparking noise from the tyres that you are in the presence of summer. At least for the moment.

Eventually I got home, just in time to watch the final episode of Freaks and Geeks. I watched Lindsey get turned on to The Grateful Dead through American Beauty and wondered how disappointed she was going to be when she experienced the early ‘80s Dead performances with only that album as reference point… Anyway, in honour of this, I’m playing the album myself, and loving every minute. And I never ever thought I’d say that.

Even though I said it last year too.




Tuesday, May 28, 2002
There’s a coterie of girls who hang out in my class at break and lunchtimes. They make a bit of a racket and generally squeal a lot, just as you would expect for 13 year olds, but really they’re a lot of fun. Today at lunchtime one of them had a copy of the NME and they trawled through it asking me which artists I liked. I don’t think I’ve never said ‘no’ quite so often in such a short time.

Of course then they started pulling up other names. The Beach Boys (my YES! raised hysterical laughter); The Bee Gees (um, they had some great records in the ‘60s you know…); The Beatles (it’s the BLOODY Beatles. Most over-rated band ever…); The Doors (Noooooooooo!!!!!); Frank Sinatra (of course! Everyone with taste has a soft spot for Ole Blue Eyes); U2 (I remember liking U2 for a week in 1980 or whenever…) and so on and so forth. You know It’s rather amusing and not a little bizarre to be on the receiving end of so many questions from 13 year olds, trying desperately, I guess, to get a grip on an angle on what makes their teacher tick.

Or maybe, of course, they were just taking the piss. Laughing at the old git with no taste. Because nothing is easier, or more fun, than laughing at your high school teachers, after all.