Pitstone Common (Ashridge - Circular Walk)

In which the sun comes out and my tree painting friend and I wander around Ashridge on a brief tour of some Significant Trees of Awesomeness, and I am oddly grateful to be back at work.

Map: None used (eek!), although it's on good ol' Explorer 181

Distance: 2 miles (guesstimate)
Time:  45 mins -1 hour

Rating: Easy Walk

This walk wanders through part of the Ashridge Estate, and although I've tried to make it as accurate as possible I would like to place a small health warning on this walk - as my friend had to take me off the path to show me Significant Trees of Awesomeness several times, I may be a bit woolly here and there...

Starting at door the Bridgewater Monument, walk down the left hand side of the road towards the actual Manor house. After - maybe- 200m or so you will see a pond to the woods in your left, and bearing left into the woodland there is a signposted path. This is the one we took.

The path leads around to the left and you join a wide avenue through the trees. My friend seems quite happy to wander off into the woodland in search of exciting trees, which is probably why she paints them so well. I, however, am not so keen to bimble off into the woods without a map. I really like walking through woodland, but as long as I'm with people. If I'm on my own it often feels pretty menacing - probably some old evolutionary hangup I have. Maybe I have ancestors who were menaced by wolves in the woods.

Interestingly enough, I feel a lot happier if I'm in woods with water. Subconsciously I think this may actually have less to do with wolves and more to do with my atrocious sense of direction. To me, woodland looks like woodland looks like woodland, but if you have a river, you always know which direction you came from. It's harder to get lost.

Once you're in the woods having followed this path, you get a wide carriageway looking kind of path, rutted in places with the tracks of 4x4s.

The sun was shining and it was moderately warm, our children were being quiet and everything was pleasant. We had a bit of a moan about the usual things we moan about - people who seem to present that everything is amazing with being a parent, the judgement we perceive from others if we don't seem to be towing the line. It's not that we don't like our children, we do, we think they're great, I just think we're less inclined to wax lyrical about it. I knew this woman and I would get along the day she cocked an invisible shotgun at her son who had been awake 3 times in the night. Mothers rarely do that in public. We're all usually pretending we're brave little soldiers, then going home and crying.

Of course, I am now failing to tow the line by having gone back to work part time. Society seems difficult to know how to deal with us, really. It nods in approval at us for going back to work, and it also nods that we are partly sacrificing our careers for our children, but at the same time there is the sense that society sucks its teeth at us for exactly the same reasons. All I can say is that I think part-time work is best for me. It might not be best for everyone, but oddly - and unexpectedly - I'm really grateful to be back at work. At work, there are rules. The hours I'm supposed to be there are clearly delineated, and the expectations of me are made clear. People tell me what to do, I do it, they don't give me shit. What they don't do is throw 4 different advice books at you, conflicting Health Visitor advice, and no-one spends time posting articles on Facebook about how what I've been doing is wrong.  It is, I must admit, a refreshing change. If the Chap didn't howl every time I dropped him off at nursery, I would be completely satisfied.

In due course, pass a turn off to the right and then take a marked path to the left further on. Continue along this path and (this is where is gets a bit hazy, so forgive me) I think it will eventually lead you left to one of the Significant Tree is Awesomeness much admired by my friend. This was her daughter's Castle Tree, and it sits in the middle of the path along what used to be a boundary line for the old Roman farms that used to exist on Ashridge. Standing next to this tree and looking to the left and right, you can see the bump of the earthwork that indicated the boundary lines. The trees all along it are really old and gnarled, and - so I was told - are all pretty old because, being on the boundary line, were all left to indicate... well, the boundary.

Middle right, the rooty hand clutching at the soil...

We then took at detour off the path to view another Significant Tree - heading right from the Castle Tree, you pick your way through the undergrowth to a huge rooty thing that was festooned with blue rope for swings. It's hard to explain quite how big it was. I was also particularly menaced by the fact it clearly has a five-fingered hand grasping onto the Earth. I am half convinced it uproots itself and night and wanders round the woodland.

Back on the path with the Castle Tree, we followed the path through Pitstone Common until a path marked by a post with a mushroom on it branches off it. This path bears right and I was surprised to find brought us back to the other side of the pond we had gone past about 45 minutes earlier, and lead us back to the car park. It's a nice wander, on the whole, made even more pleasant by sunshine and a spot of putting the world to rights!

Things I Learnt

• The woodland at Ashridge is all pretty new, as the land was farmed for a long time after the Romans stopped. The oldest trees are the ones along the boundary lines.
• My sense of direction, poor at the best of times, completely deserts me in woods.
• For a couple of years I have been a total wazzock with regards to Ashridge, taking the same dull path every time. I am really excited to have been shown other routes and find other things!

Aldbury to the Bridgewater Monument (Circular Walk)

In which I have a leisurely wander from the village of Aldbury up to the Bridgewater Monument and back, don't stop for a cup of tea because the Chap was a-napping, and wish you a festive furry fu-fu.

Ordnance Survey Map: 181 (Chiltern Hills North)

Distance: Approx 3 miles

Time: 1 hour
Rating: Easy-Moderate Walk (hills & maps & mud - oh my!)

On my previous walks around Aldbury I had seen signs to the Bridgewater Monument, so I have been quite keen to join the dots of The Aldbury Circuit Part I & Part II and the Ashridge Estate. Also, The Chap has been running yet another mild temperature (the average child has 12 colds a year, I think I read in the NHS Birth to Five book), and so a trot in the fresh air is always good.

This time I did not abuse the good nature of the Greyhound pub car park, but instead parked 100 or so metres beyond that in the recreation ground car park, where a few other people were starting off on their own walks - although they seemed to be heading more towards the Ridgeway than in the direction I was going.

Come out of the car park and turn left, walking down the road for about half a kilometre. It's quite a narrow road, but it's quiet with it. In due course, after passing a natty wrought iron gate on the right and seeing a large white country house hotel through the trees on the left, you follow the public bridleway signs and turn right through Stocks Farm and head gently upwards.

This bit through the farm was pretty muddy, so it was a case squelching for quite a long way. I reckon with a bit of tenacity of upper body strength you could do this walk in the summer with a pram, but in the winter  it would have been pretty dire. As it was, I still had to go pretty carefully as I'm always a bit concerned about slipping over and squishing the Chap on landing. He was oblivious, of course - by this point he had nodded off.

It being Christmas and the season of eating, I had thought a lot about weaning this week. Particularly as we had a pre-Christmas family dinner in which the Chap kicked off in a particularly impressive way (we later discovered it was probably because he was ill). He's not a big eater - we've had the health visitor in who announced him fine, and to keep doing what we're doing and he'll pick up on the food eventually. But yes, the way he can ruin a dinner is pretty stressful when you tend to use the preparing and eating of meals as a stress-relieving activity. I wrote a whole post about how, when your relationship with food is pretty messed up at the best of times, weaning can be pretty trying. However, I want to be enjoying Christmas dinner without all of my family-in-law peering at my extra helping of turkey and thinking 'hmmm', so it's not going on the blog yet. Maybe in the new year.

What has pleased me greatly this week, however, has been pubic hair. No, really. This is the sort of thing that pleases me. To my shame, I have finally been sucked into one of those weird half-reality half-soap opera shows, set in Liverpool and tastefully titled Desperate Scousewives. It's worth a look for nothing if not the eyebrows - they look like they've been drawn on with a ruler and a biro. Anyway, a couple of the girls on that were discussing how one of them had had laser hair removal on her - ahem - 'bikini area'. "Imagine being an old woman with a bald Minnie." the other commented. Quite. Why would you want such a thing? Let me nail my colours to the mast as being from the Caitlin Moran school of pubic hair;

"I now believe that there are only four things a grown, modern woman should have: a pair of yellow shoes (they unexpectedly go with everything), a friend who will come and post bail at 4am, a failsafe pie recipe, and a proper muff. A big, hairy minge. A lovely furry moof that looks – when she sits, naked – as if she has a marmoset sitting in her lap. A tame marmoset, that she can send off to pickpocket things, should she so need it – like that trained monkey in Raiders of the Lost Ark"

How to Be A Woman, 2011

There is no dignity in being a grown woman with a la-la like an eight year old. And there certainly will be no dignity in it when you're eighty.

And before I continue on with my walk, let me continue publicising my shameless fangirl crush on Caitlin Moran by suggesting you  watch her opine in the attempt to flog her book:

I love her. I just need to say that. I love her.

Ahem.

The Bridgewater Monument at the Winter Solstice.

The path really was quite muddy, and as you head up into the tree-line it also gets a little steep. It's not too bad, but it took me longer than necessary while toting nearly 2 stone of baby up a muddy incline. As this incline begins to flatten out, you shortly come to a point where the path divides. Take the left hand hand fork (marked no horses) and head through the woods until you pop out onto a wide mobility trail which shows you are now clearly on the Ashridge Estate. Well, that at the Bridgewater Monument peering through the trees at you.

I had intended to stop at the cafe here for a cup of tea and a piece of cake, but the Chap was asleep and I didn't want to wake him, so I decided to save the calories for later and continue on my way.

Cross the field in front of the Bridgewater Monumnet as if you are heading to the cafe, then turn right down the mobility trail. In a few hundred metre this also diverges, so take the right hand fork downwards to head back towards Aldbury. This really is quite a steep incline, so watch your feet!

So yes, the reason why pubic hair has pleased me this week is that - apparently - it is coming back into fashion. Or so Eva Wiseman told me (me personally, of course) on Twitter, and she has striking hair, so it must be true. There's a pleasing article on jezebel.com that you can read by clicking this link. If you don't want to see any (tastefully done) muff shots, then don't.

I am heartened at the thought of a festive furry backlash. I was also heartened by a recent report on BBC's Woman's Hour that touched upon recent 'Muff Marches' held by the campaign group UK Feminista regarding the rise of 'designer vaginas'. Now, waving my 'I have birth vaginally and had a third degree perineal tear' flag (handed out in theatre, sometime in between the start of the suturing and the point at which they start talking about you as if you're not there. If you really want one, I'm sure you can pick them up on Ebay very easily. Amazon have probably started selling them, to be honest), I would like to look this allegedly rising trend firmly in the eye, poke its pigeon chest with my bony finger and advise it most strongly to leave be my cha-cha-cha. There will be some women who do need labioplasty - if they find bits of their anatomy interfering with sex and making it uncomfortable, for example - but the vast majority do not. This sort of behaviour, and the normalising of it, just plays on fears, to steal a phrase from Germaine Greer, that "No woman wants to find out that she has a twat like a horse collar". There is enough censuring about the female body from the outside - we don't need it to get internal as well. I'm not tying bows on my bloody kidneys for fear someone may want to have a little look. There will be no cravat upon my pancreas. My cervix does not need a hat. Back off, Harley Street. Back the hell off.

Anyway, hurrah for a festive muff, I say. Maybe I should have hallooed that as I once again entered the village of Aldbury. I didn't, sadly. I merely turned right, towards the centre of the village, then right again past the duck pond, the Greyhound pub and down the road again to the car park.


Things I Learnt

• Gosh, it's dark this time of year.
• And muddy. Don't look at the rain on your path as you leave and think 'oh,  my jeans'll be fiiiine', because  I was coated in mud to my mid shins.
• Pubic hair pleases me. It really does. And the word 'merkin' is always welcome in Scrabble.

Ashridge Estate (Circular Walk)

In which I find a new walk to do in Ashridge with my sling meet and am all conflicted about the word 'mum'.

Ordnance Survey number: Explorer 181
Distance: 2 miles approx
Time: 75 mins (walking at a pace good for little legs!)

Autumn is finally here! Wet, misty and with leaves changing colour fast. The Chap and I woke up to find it sheeting down with rain. I was filled with confidence at the fact we had agreed to go on a walk with my sling meet - this looked like we should be turning up at Ashridge with a paddle and life jackets.

I think we managed to burn off the rain by sheer dint of the heat of our own rage at the Liz Jones 'spunkburglar' article (as my husband refers to it) - the echoes were still reverberating. Happy minutes were spent creating Ultimate Headlines along the lines of "Illegal Immigrants Steal Babies From Careless Older Mothers, Causing Cancer and the Devaluing of House Prices".

We started at the Bridgewater Monument, built in 1832 and available to climb in summer months (I love a good tower. The ChapDad and I had an inadvertent run of holidays in places with towers, so it has become a bit of a running joke that whenever we go somewhere we have to find a tower to go up. If we ever find ourselves in Mordor we'll be up Barad-dûr by the end of the first day).

Standing outside the cafe and looking towards the Bridgewater Monument, take the paved road to the left. into the woods. This is an easy, slightly gravelly path that is could take a pram if you don't mind having to turn and go back the way you came when the path becomes impassable.

It was really lovely, if a bit damp. For the first half I had to break out my umbrella, which is sometimes a challenge as, more often that not, the Chap starts trying to climb out of his sling so he can reach the dangly bit that fastens it closed when the umbrella is folded.

 In due course, the path will split. We stayed on the left hand fork, but I suspect the right hand one will take you down into the village of Aldbury. Aside from a lot of women toting babies, we also had a number of small people with us, leaping around in wellies and rainsuits (I do mean children, not dwarves), pointing out squirrels and demanding to see some deer.

So there I was, surrounded by mothers, and I was struck by a creeping thought again... I don't really want to be a mum. Now, you may look at this:

And think that maybe I have somewhat burned my bridges if that is my feeling. Left it a bit late for that realisation, perhaps.

But no, my problem isn't with being a mother. My problem is with the word 'mum'. Actually, no, my problem isn't with the word 'mum' - my problem is with the way the word is used. The vast majority of mothers in the UK are called mum, and I'm not in any way criticising that choice. What's getting my goat is that I hear word mum and I come over all a bit Saussure, because what I also hear is the way the word mum is being devalued.

Word	Why it makes me twitchy
mumsy	Sarah Dittum in The Guardian made a good point that there is no 'dadsy' equivalent to make men feel dowdy
mumpreneur	Made it into the dictionary last month (defining a mother who runs her own business from home so she can combine work and childcare). I don't have a problem with the activity, I have a problem with the fact that as a man you can be doing the same activity and you're an entrepreneur - as a woman, we have to put a label on you to disambiguate you from other women running businesses? What's going on here?
Your mum	The final put-down to win any argument.There's even a Facebook group bemoaning the current Prime Minister entitled David Cameron - Your Mum. I know it stems from the cultural belief that one of the greatest insults is to criticise someone's mother, but it's the way the sentence has evolved to needing an ending "Yeah, well, your mum's stupid" to just "Your mum" as an insult in itself.

Add to that Sanctimommies, Discombobumoms, MILFs, the way mumsnet is treated on the news (they care more for biscuits than politics, because that's all mother's heads are filled with) and, if you really want to be depressed, go to urban dictionary and look at all the mom-suffix words. I know they're supposed to be funny (and I know there are also loads of dad-suffix ones), and some are, but it's the sheer number of them, and the wealth of contempt bearing down on you; a list of why you are comprehensively shit.

As a group, after the path bears to the left, we  had reached a point  at a crossroads where we could either turn left through a gate and head back, or carry straight on down the bridleway. After some discussion, we decided that neither we nor our small friends were tired yet. We would continue forward in the hopes of seeing some deer. If you've got a pram, this is a good place to turn around - it got pretty muddy from here.

There was a convenient gate at this point, on which we could put my camera with a timer so we could get a picture of us all.

Further on, there are some trees that clearly came a cropper during some high winds. This is excellent fun for small (and larger) people to clamber all over, as well as getting to go 'ooo' at some tree roots. One member of our group said there was a picture of her sitting on top of these roots while pregnant - it's quite a clamber, so I was pretty impressed!

Sooo, if I don't want to be 'mum', what choice have a I got? Mummy? That's fine for now, but it's hard to be a grown up and still call your female parent 'Mummy' (plus, there are then overtones of 'Mummy's boys'... I'm aware other epithets are also used in a derogatory manner). Ma? I'm not Irish enough. Mama? If you pronounce it with the short 'a' I'm not American enough for that, and I couldn't use the British 'Muh-Mah' pronunciation because Daddy doesn't own half of Berkshire, so I'm just not posh enough. Mother? A bit formal.

I phoned up my mum to pick her brain. Well, I say I phoned up my mum. "I always wanted to be mum." she said "But I never got to be. When you were little it all started off fine as mummy, then we went to America and then it was mommy, and then we had the Pete's Dragon phase where I was Nora, and then you got a bit older and it's been mother, which I hate, because it sounds like you're cross with me all the time. It's like being called by your job title."

You see, even as a child I was conflicted about the word. There were two problems, really. In my head, she is my mummy (and that's what I always write on mother's day cards). But, when I got to about Year 4 at school, everyone else seemed to have mums; I didn't. I had a mummy. But I couldn't tell people that; it was babyish. So I had to refer to this impostor I had at home - but she's my mummy, not my mum. Who is this mum character? I'm 30 now, and it's ridiculous, I still feel like a bit of a prat about it.

My other problem was that everyone else had a mum, and I've always had that sort of temperment where I am a little wary of having what everyone else has got. So I'm afraid I have, without really knowing what else to call her, leant towards mother, because as she said, that's her job title. I know she doesn't like it, but I still hold onto it as a habit when talking to others because it became so ingrained at school. So maybe that's the real problem - I don't really know what I'm supposed to call my own mother, so how am I supposed to know what I should want to be myself? Maybe I should just let The Chap make his mind up. After all, Jenni Murray is 'mum' to her sons, and she's not looking too oppressed. Most mothers are mum, and it doesn't seem to do too much harm. My mother suggested I should just be 'mum' and reclaim it as a word, but it's not like the reclamation of the word 'queer' by the gay community. Queer was always an insult - mum is a word that's being eroded with contempt. I think that, on the whole, I've just got to surrender it to my child - I am his mother, so he should choose. Children come with their own ideas, so whatever happens, like my mother before me, I guess I won't have a choice.

Shamelessly stolen from GeekySweetheart

Take the first left - from here on, things got very muddy indeed, which was a source of much delight to the younger members of our group. There was less delight from mothers who had put their children down to walk, only for them to ask to be carried again - complete with muddy wellies threatening to make a mess of jeans!

It was around here that we saw our first fallow deer - I did try and take a picture, but my wildlife photography is pretty dodgy. I due course, we came to a crossroads - take the left and road. When this road comes to a T junction, do not go left or right but step over a very low bit of fence (or something) among the undergrowth and cross straight back over the field. This takes you back towards the monument and - crucially - the cafe for a cuppa!

The Bridgewater Monument hoves into view.

Things I Learnt

• I should pay more attention when being taken on a walk by someone else. The directions here are a bit fluffy this week...
• If I had called people what they wanted, I would have had a Ma and a Mum. Instead I had a Grandma and a Mummy. I will have very little say in what The Chap decides to call me!
• You can still go for walks with small people. You have to take it at their pace, but tramping through the undergrowth doesn't have to be written off once the little ones can walk. This bodes well for the future.