Fired Up

Nicky caught a fascinating clip on Radio Four about a new book Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human by distinguished primatologist Richard Wrangham.

Put in a nutshell, Wrangham’s thesis goes like this.

Humanity began when our primate ancestors started cooking. As they became “cooking apes, the creatures of the flame”, their digestive tracts shrank and their brains grew.

And Bob’s your uncle, apes morphed into humans.

This is “the cooking hypothesis”, Wrangham claims, missed in Darwin’s theory of evolution.

Well, what do you make of this? Wrangham’s book apparently ranges across nutritional science, paleontology, and studies of ape behaviour, and has been acclaimed by many.

And I’m sure we’ve all felt the primal thrill of lighting an open fire while camping. It makes sense for scientists to credit the incredible impact of fire on the evolutionary process.

But it turns out Wrangham has put the cat among the pigeons by rubbishing raw food. The raw food lobby is up in arms. They’d like to see the author spit-roasted.

So we’ve been asking - what do we think on the raw/cooked food question?

Truth is we’re not sure. As we understand it, cooking releases the nutrients in some food While other raw foods in a growth state - like beansprouts - are packed with good stuff.



We follow a diet of cooked meat and fish mixed with raw fruit, veggies and pulses. But is that right?

Perhaps only time and the evolutionary process will tell.

But we do have one further problem with Wrangham’s anti-raw food invective.

By his thesis, TV chefs ought to be more intelligent than lesser mortals. The Gordon Ramsays of this world should possess an intellectual advantage through all their time spent at the cooker.

And does that wash?

Help!

Our much-loved black T-reg Ford Focus has gone over the 150K mark and may be reaching the end of its days.

We need a new travel solution but we’re mired in a maze of choices, especially when it comes to sustainability.

Do we go for a second-hand higher-emission car - or a more expensive eco-friendly lower-emission vehicle?

It strikes us the debate about this is similar to the one between organic non-local food and non-organic local food. What’s best - if any?

We need some help with this. So in case anyone’s got some sage advice...

Buying second-hand appeals because it’s about recycling. But a new hybrid car will be cleaner and better for the environment. So how do we make our car choice?


We’re in a quandary.

With the needs of our developing business at Millican - as well as those of Archie, our yellow lab - an estate would probably suit us best. The lads down at Millbank Garage would be great with a Ford, though a Landrover Defender really quickens our pulses. Rugged, functional, and ready to get out wherever we are...

But then as Nicky reminds me, life in the Lakes doesn’t really require a rugged car choice. We don’t get snowed in where we live. And, though a 4x4 might drive better and more safely, it doesn’t sit very well eco-wise, unless we get one on LPG gas.

So let’s ditch the Defender idea and stick with the Ford.

Our next consideration is how we get around to trade fairs and equestrian events. For this option, we need to be able to transport and sell our bags. We’d love to get some kind of mobile showroom. That probably means a combi of large car and trailer, with us sleeping in tents at events. This solution would also free up a reasonably normal sized car when we’re not towing or working.

But let’s dream for a moment... We could go for a van plus caravan to sleep in.

Or a horsebox combining storage and sleeping.

Or, thinking outside that box, a funky branded van attracting a lot of attention.

So any eco-consultants out there, how do we choose from the options? And how do we play off sustainability, emissions, fuel type and expense?

We’d love to hear how anyone else has squared this circle.

And, please, no votes for the Toyota Prius solution. Green, yes. But outside our price range. And a challenge to our love of beauty.

Our T-reg Ford would never forgive us.

In the Beginning was the Word

Books. We can’t get enough of them.

In fact, we’re a tad like the Imelda Marcos of the bookworld. We’ve got bookshelves in virtually every room in our house.

On a recent trip to Northumberland, we fell in love with Barter Books. This is one of the biggest second-hand bookshops in Europe. Built in an old train station, it’s somewhere we’d be happy to wait all day for a delayed train.



So we’ve huge time for authors who put their lives on the line with their writing. They deserve every reward they can get.

Tricky to find our thinking challenged, then, by other points of view. The UK Pirate Party has been in the news with its campaign for file sharing.

And now we’ve been wooed by website Bookcrossing. A movement dedicated to releasing captive books into the wild for the enjoyment of all.

It goes like this. Do you remember Amelie?

One of our fave films, it tells the story of a young Parisien woman with a bent for spying on her neighbours. When she discovers a small box filled with treasures in her apartment wall, she resolves to return it to its original owner. After this, she begins spreading joy to others. She tells a blind man about the things around him as he shuffles across a street; sets up two frustrated loners in a cafe; and finds a mischievous way to encourage her widowed father to travel.

It’s a film about generosity. Which chimes with Bookcrossing, a movement that defines itself like this:

"n. the practice of leaving a book in a public place to be picked up and read by others, who then do likewise”.



You leave a marked book somewhere. Then you log onto the Bookcrossing website to find out how far the book has travelled. Imagine. Nicky leaves her current fave collection of short stories, “The Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri, in a Keswick coffee shop. It gets bagged by someone going on holiday to Iceland. There it gets dropped and embarks on further travels across the US, down to Venezuela, and thereafter to Australia and New Zealand.

It’s the ultimate in recycling.

There’s just one snag. You have to give up your hoarding instinct and get generous instead. Which is tough for us when it comes to books. We love them as much as the bags we make. There’s nothing like the stories, advice and wisdom a book can supply.

I suppose this battle between generosity and our miserliness lies at the heart of many issues to do with sustainability and recycling. How do we beat our inner Imelda and embrace our Mother Theresa instead?

But we are troubled by one other argument.

The cry of the author who says they’re being cheated of a sales fee as their book gets freely passed from hand to hand.

Some are saying organisations like Bookcrossing may benefit readers but are cutting off writers' legs.

So what do you reckon? Should we have intellectual property with rights and fees for writers? Or do we welcome a free market where a book, once published, becomes the property of all?

Our heart’s with Bookcrossing... but we wouldn’t want to be cornered on it by our writer friends.

Bread of Heaven

I blogged the other day about that moment in the year when trousers oust shorts.

But I’ve now noted another sign of the changing seasons.

For months, our bread-maker has lain dormant. Now Nicky’s pulled it out and begun the home-baking again. A warm aroma of freshly-baked bread is wafting upstairs.

And it’s not just bread. There’s her Pecan, Raisin and Date Crunch. And Bread with Dorset Rarebit with Cider.

These gems are recent additions to her recipe list, following our visit to

The Town Mill Bakery in Lyme Regis last year.

This fabulous bakery has to be seen to be believed. Nestling inside a watermill, it’s an open working space stuffed with freshly baked produce, with the bakers visible at work.

Just the kind of business we love and which inspires us.

It goes like this. You collect what you fancy from the scones, heavenly loaves and other organic delights on offer. You join fellow-diners on trestle tables laden with massive jugs of fresh apple juice, bowls of butter and jam. You natter away, more like you’re in someone’s home than any cafe or restaurant. And you pay at the end by simply telling the woman at the till what you’ve eaten. Magic. Tell that to Tesco.

The hum of conversation, not deep freezes.
Loaves homebaked, not processed packed.
And they close when the pizzas run out. Or there’s something good on TV.

Will they make a fortune? Maybe not.
Will they contribute to the life of Lyme Regis. Absolutely.

Even the owners’ plans to consider franchises come in home-baked fashion. They’d like to train up interested fellow-bakers - but for distinctive outlets, tailored to the needs of other towns.

We like it.
Stay close to your roots.
Stay sustainable.
And enjoy the crack with your customers.

Hurrah for The Town Mill Bakery.

The Long And Short Of Autumn

Funny to think that some City firms still rule against shorts, even in high-summer.

What is it with this prejudice? Are bare knees beyond the pale?

In the lakes, shorts are essentials for us throughout spring and summer.
But I know when the chill hand of autumn has finally taken hold.

Itʼs a sign surer than any other.

Even than finding the “Get the axe for firewood” note scribbled on our To Do list.

Or the moment that the central heating gets switched on.

Or the sight of morning mist hanging over the fields and below the fell tops.

Itʼs the moment I swap shorts for trousers. Now I know weʼre winter-bound.

Amazing, then, to think of Millican Dalton wearing his home-made shorts come sun, rain or snow. Easy enough to imagine on the July fells. But sitting in his cave in December in the wettest valley in England?

No wonder the man was a local legend.

Interestingly, shorts were the subject of a spat between Millican and one of Britainʼs other finest eccentrics.


Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout movement, is believed to have invented shorts. Millican, however, claimed this honour for himself

Historians still pore over photos of Millican and Baden-Powellʼs journals in an attempt to establish the truth.

Now maybe it doesnʼt matter.

Perhaps this was just a little local disagreement between two giants of the outdoor movement in Edwardian England.

Our moneyʼs on Millican, though.

Look at his advertising copy for a Mountaineering Excursion in October 1913:

“The Programme will be seasoned to taste with further real adventures and
experiences such as the following:

A Dinner of the Savage Club on a Desert Island.
Exploration of a Cave.
Lost in the Mountain Midst.
A Thunderstorm in the Mountains (weather permitting).
Dangling over the Precipice.
Astride the Razor Ridge.
Ascent of the Needle.
Varied Hairbreadth Escapes.

Baden-Powell may have had a genius for military organisation.

But wasnʼt Millican the ultimate Scout?

What Makes A Classic A Classic?

From time to time, we contemplate future bag designs that we might add to our range. Now the autumn nights are drawing in, there’s nothing we like better than dreaming bags.

Here are some vintage bags we’ve collected




And we love scanning period ads on our friend Lesli Larson’s awesome site, Archival Clothing.

The bags and kit shown there exude the kind of style we love. Honest, reliable, utilitarian. Timeless design that has a reason for being.

I guess this is part of what makes a classic a classic. Take the Gladstone bag - inspiration for our handsome contemporary model, Harry.

It was interesting researching the origins of the Gladstone. It seems that within just a few years of its creation, the Gladstone had become the epitome of fashionable Victorian travel. What’s more, it has consistently retained that status ever since.

Here’s Oscar Wilde in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’: “What a way for a fashionable painter to travel. A Gladstone bag and an Ulster”.


The Ulster was another elegant piece of kit for the discerning traveller. Yet the Ulster falls by the wayside while Harry continues his triumphant march.

Can anyone explain these kind of riddles of fashion and design? We’d love to know.

And, of course, with vintage bags, there are other merits than just design. Consider their use of prime materials, skilled manufacture, and their durability.

Durability means history. And who doesn’t love a bag carrying memories of shared travels? The bags in our collection almost exude the aroma of former adventures.

There’s only one downside, as far as I can see.

I met a guy at a stag party supper recently. He was describing the grief he felt giving up his old travelling bag for a spick and span new one.

For more than ten years, his trusty friend had accompanied him on adventures and scrapes around the country and planet.

Now it was time to let go. And it choked my companion up.

Hmm. Bag bereavement. Now there’s a counselling sideline we might develop.

Shed Man

What do you reckon about working sheds in the garden?

Ingenious solutions to solve home clutter and improve life-work balance?

Or sad refuges for escapist men?

We’ve been debating this. To be honest, the house is full to overflowing. And I love the idea of an outdoor office space.

But who is this talking? The practical householder in me - or the inner caveman?

Shed-dwellers have taken plenty of stick in recent years. Especially from female journalists who’ve described them as overgrown boys.

I suppose I take my cue from Millican Dalton. He lived in a cave nine months of the year, and in a plain hut for the winter months.


Now was Millican escapist? Or was he right to follow through on his love of natural simplicity?

You do feel closer to nature in a shed or hut. Countless creatives have found inspiration in them.

Take Mark Twain. His sister-in-law built an octagonal one-room studio for him when he moved to Elmira, NY, in 1874. Twain describes it like this:

“It is a cozy nest, with just room in it for a sofa and a table and three or four chairs... And when the storms sweep down the remote valley and the lightning flashes above the hills beyond, and the rain beats upon the roof over my head, imagine the luxury of it!”


Or there’s George Bernard Shaw. He had a hut designed on a rotating platform that he could move to follow the sun’s path across the sky. Nice.

And before Nicky points out that these are both men, what about Virginia Woolf? She wrote from a writing shed at Monk’s House, East Sussex. ‘Nuff said.

But, seriously, there is a long tradition of men burying themselves in seclusion in sheds. The word ‘shed’ itself apparently comes from the Anglo-Saxon ‘scead’, meaning shade or a place of partial darkness or obscurity’. Hence, the image of sheds inhabited by loners.

Now, I’ve no wish to become a hermit. Some chance anyway with our phone ringing like it does.
But the fact is that we actually see our shed as a well-lit office for all-year round use.

And for joint ownership as a couple. Sorry, Millican.

We’ll keep you posted.

Pain and Pleasure

Note to self: do not drink so much in the evening while camping.

Okay, we admit. Our recent camping jaunt with friends wasn’t exactly free of the influence of alcohol.


While the girls lapped up Gavi white wine, the lads downed Snecklifter Ales and St Peter’s Organic Bitter (we love the bottle shape as well as the contents).

But we paid a heavy price in the night. Stumbling over sleeping loved ones in a desperate scramble to relieve ourselves outside.

Mind you, local legend Millican Dalton wasn’t adverse to the odd pleasure.


No role model for today’s PC brigade, he had a craving for Woodbines.

Visitors on his guided tours of the fells tell of his chain-smoking. And of how he’d be holding a ciggie on every occasion.

He’d even have one stuffed between his toes while he kneaded his bread, stirred his porridge, or brewed his coffee.

Proving even the greatest outdoor types like their little luxuries.

I’ll tell that to Harry next time I plant a foot in his solar plexus on the way to the tent opening.

Let the inner Adventurer awake

What do you reckon?

Is exploration just an activity for overgrown schoolboys? Stiff-lipped Victorians?

Or does it have a continuing place in our world?


I ask because I’ve been catching up with The Beagle Campaign. A bold move to pressurise The Royal Geographic Society to mount its own global expeditions again.

Since a merger with the Institute of British Geographers in 1995, the RGS has abandoned its bravura expeditions of the past. The bias for funding has been for academic research conducted on home turf.

Now I don’t know about your experience of geography teachers at school but...

Give me the likes of Livingstone, Speke, Shackleton and Stanley any day.
It’s a subject close to my heart because two years ago I took time out. Hung out and dry from my day job, I needed fresh vision.

It was time to visit some childhood sources of inspiration.

And so it was that I found myself one blustery February morning last year on the steps of the RGS. I was amazed by what I found inside. Imagine. As you sit at a library table, a librarian brings you Dr Livingstone’s compass and notebooks from the vaults. Provided that you wear a pair of regulation gloves, you can even hold these treasures.

Exploration fuelled my childhood imagination for years. After all, what boy could resist picking up a book entitled “The Worst Journey in the World”?

Apsley Cherry Garrard, its author, was a polar explorer in the best traditions of the RGS. So how come the RGS has confined itself to pen-pushing in the halls of British academia?

This is why my heart goes out to the guys behind The Beagle Campaign.

First, they’ve reminded us that there remain worlds within worlds to be explored. New animals are being discovered in remote forests of Vietnam. Water flows in permanent night underneath the West Antarctic through a maze of unexplored lakes and rivers. Huge expanses of seabed and ocean remain untouched compared with the surface of the Moon.

Second, the Beaglers are smart. They’re not interested in exploration as conquer and rule. The days of sedan chairs and subalterns are long past.

No, for them exploration is critical to sustainability and our planet’s health. It gives us the information we need to fight climate change. The threat to species. Water shortage.

And if we value biodiversity and want to see it preserved, we need to get on with investigating the 50 million new species in unexplored oceans. The 10 million new species of insects, mainly in endangered rainforests.

So at risk of being accused of mid-life crisis blues and seeking to prolong my childhood, I cast my vote with the Beaglers.

Millican is all about making conscious choices for a better planet.

And, on an everyday level, don’t we all need to get out and adventure?

Which is why I’ll be nurturing my inner explorer this autumn. Even if it is re-reading “The Worst Journey” from the comfort of my sofa.

Sustainability...child's play

We’ve spent a fair part of the summer scratching our heads. Looking for a charity to donate a percentage of our sales to.

And it’s been great to learn about more new charities tackling sustainability, a cause dear to our hearts.

But we’ve developed a special affection for PlayPumps.

Imagine. A waterpump that doubles as a merry-go-round for children. These nifty devices are transforming the face of water-starved villages across Africa.


It’s so simple. The kids get to do what kids enjoy doing across the world. And the merry-go-round pumps water, benefitting everyone in the community.

Apparently, more than 1200 PlayPumps have already been donated to villages in South Africa, Lesotho, Mozambique, Swaziland and Zambia.


And they reckon by 2010, more than 10 million people will benefit from the fresh water coming from these pumps across sub-Saharan Africa.

Which isn’t bad for a gizmo addressing water shortage and providing hours of amusement for local kids.

Sustainability and fun. Now there’s a life-changing combination that gets our vote. Have you come across any other charity products rewriting the rules like this?

Rampant Runners

Our veggie plot is looking decidedly sad after its summer of plenty.

Courgettes, tomatoes, spinach, lettuce of every hue. It’s been great to come back from Millican On Tour at the Highland Shows and Equestrian Trials for some home-grown grub.


Mind you, we’ve had our problems. We’re still nurturing one solitary chilli plant. The snails got the rest.

We had to send in a rescue party for the sprouts. The slugs had had a field day.

And we thought we’d lost the broccoli. Till we found it lurking beneath the beetroot leaves.

It’s not an easy game, especially when you’re away from home. But the food on the table more than makes up for it. Hats off, then, to the Eat Seasonably Campaign. We love the idea of eating fruit and veg grown in season. If that means fewer artificial inputs like heating, lighting and pesticides, it can only be to the good.

Mind, you have to know your onions.

We had a glut of runner beans this year.

All credit to our favourite seasonal chef for saving the day. Valentine Warner’s brilliant Runner Bean Chutney recipe sorted us out in a jiffy.


This stuff will keep us going for months.

Is everything green in your garden?