Diary of Pip Rippon

Got a lift out into the back of beyond, a place near Strines. It's bleak up there -- the eerie sounds of the tubwing echoing over the moorland, with that strange call of theirs. Shad got a little close to one and was surprised by it, as the dumpy thing fled from the heather. There were a number moldenke on dirt racers complaining that the was gate locked to a public bridleway -- I'm sure the Exacid have their reasons, and it was more of an obstacle for me than a barghest, as I made something of a hash of trying to clamber over the fence; not as adept or dextrous as I should be for someone of my age. But an enjoyable outing, out here in the wilds, it's primeval -- you should pay it a visit.

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Got into one of my favourite bars on the Middlewood road tonight. It was busy, there was industrial action in Hellsborough and a number of the jellyheads had decided to strike. Hellsborough is not normally known for industrial action, the general dynamic is that of a self-made state -- you can do well if you do well for yourself. But there is this undercurrent of those who work for The DPDC that feel that they are entitled to more, and that by not working, and not keeping the wheels of industry turning, they are making some sort of point. I'm not sure what the point they are trying to make is -- surely, if they worked harder, smarter and looked after number one -- eg. them and theirs -- they would earn more and be able to contribute more to society than they do by not working at all.

The concept is lost on me, I'm afraid. I guess that's at least one reason why the University of Hallamshire and I do not see eye to eye anymore. One thing I do know though is, if they don't reign their necks in, the Exacid will come down on them hard. This is a society which has a glamour of tolerance, since it keeps the population at ease, but once a certain line has ben crossed, and has come to the notice of The Nascenti, then woe betide anyone who might cross the mark.

Anyway, as if to prove my point that spending keeps those wheels turning, Van is sat at the bar and already has a pint sat there waiting for me. I don't know how he knew that I would arrive at this precise time, but I guess he must have seen my arriving from up the street. Shad is with me of course -- and of course, I think to myself, Shad and Van have this connection which is far more cerebral and connected than I, or either of them can fathom, so that would be exactly how he knew that I was on my way.

I sat on the bar stool next to Van. He didn't enter into any pleasantries, just nodding with his eyes as I thanked him for the ale.

Pip, we need to get this biography launched, it's been going on too long, he said, by way of greeting.

Much as I could have turned this argument around, being a professional, I refrained.

Chapters 6 and 7 of The Hellsborough Chronicles are available to subscribers in your My Hellsborough secure area.

Destination Pudding Poke, for no other reason than I like the name of this particular pathway. I headed out along the Loxley, then cutting up at Rowel bridge cross county to Storrs -- I've created a map, this is where you can start if you wish to follow the same route. Out past Holes farm and through the bog and slurry to Hill Top. Down to Cliffe road and onto Pudding Poke itself. At this point the murk looked formidable, I was on its edge and could see that it had enveloped Bradfield, back behind the Damflask, and was threatening to come in my direction. I headed straight back down through Beacon Wood and returned via the Loxley, an enjoyable round walk.

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Onto Wadsley common and through the bracken dunes, dark brown and broken by this harsh weather at the moment. There was a dead venomtooth up there in the dunes, clearly a victim of the cold. Never seen one before, and on spotting it I nearly jumped out of my skin and stopped walking, pausing whilst I regained my breath. It clearly wasn't moving, so I knew it had expired; stiff as a board. Shad had a sniff of it, but otherwise showed it no interest. A bit later, out the other side of the common spotted a hoverwing. Coming back around and along Boggard lane, the hidden river was in full flow, a nice and refreshing drink for Shad. Then back through Worrall and down a footpath I had never noticed before (I know, a very rare occurrence, because there aren't many of them in S6) which took me down to Stockarth road and back onto the Middlewood road. Didn't bother visiting any of the bars today, even though I knew Van would be there, and wants to desperately discuss progress on his memoirs, but I have been invited to a party tonight of a friend of mine up Stannington way and didn't want to get into an all nighter with Van.

Was chatting to a local who has actually travelled outside of Hellsborough for a number of years, but he still came back. We all come back, sooner or later.

A cold and frosty day, with the lightness of the murk affording an excellent view of a snow capped Stanedge as I headed out towards the Rivelin rough, destination the Rivelin needle. Once in the rough, Shad goes a little bit crazy; he seems to love it there, chasing about back and forth, following the trails, barking like a mad one, even howling, such is his enjoyment. The needle itself seems to materialise from nowhere, emerging from the brown bracken and the straight spindly silver birch limbs, that are covered in bright green moss, like fur -- it glowers back at me from its retinue of discarded rocks like a malevolent totem. After that, passed the Rivelin reservoirs only to become lost and disorientated in Fox Hagg and find my way unpassable due the the level of the water flooding down the river. Eventually back onto the road, but then we still got our feet wet again traversing the river at another point. All in all, glad to be back at the bars on the Middlewood road for a quiet couple of pints and a bit of warmth.