If there’s one thing which the lockdown has made me realise is that I need the physical company of others and not just to say ‘hello’ while passing and keeping the prescribed two-metre distance.
I’m not gregarious by nature, I’m quite happy in my own space and company and I don’t often frequent busy bars crammed with people and echoing to the din of loud conversations and raucous laughter, but now I’m beginning to crave it.
A friend and I were having a text chat the other day and he dropped into the conversation about having a couple of beers and a good meal once we’re allowed out again and I’ve been obsessing about it ever since.
I can’t shake this feeling of being caged. I find myself hovering anxiously near the front door in the forlorn hope it will suddenly fling itself open and I will be ejected into the world outside the walls.
I now yearn for a crammed pub, shoulder to shoulder with other punters at the bar trying to grab the attention of bar staff to order a round (a rarity some might cruelly say) or even people-watching while enjoying a fresh brew and a sweet treat at a table outside a busy coffee shop.
For some reason I feel the need to be with people without facemasks and being a minimum of two metres away from them.
That innocent text has awakened a need I never dreamt I possessed. That to interact with others in noisy public places and enjoy their company and the simple act of having a conversation, a handshake or even a hug.
This dreadful and frightening virus has wreaked havoc across our lives and, indeed, the world and has created an air of anxiety and even suspicion among those who have distanced themselves socially or unsocially.
It seems a long way off, but hopefully in time those devastated by the sorrow of losing loved ones will heal and will be able once again to be with others and socialise without fear.
So, when the doors open and we’re flung back into the world, hopefully we’ll be better people for it and this experience can release us from our own ‘bubble of life’ and we can embrace the joy of being in the company of others, irritating, raucous or otherwise.

In my late teens, George Simpkins, an older fellow worker of mine, took me under his wing and decided to introduce me to sailing. I wasn’t sure why, initially I thought it was because he thought I was spending too much time in pubs, but it soon dawned on me that it was simply because I weighed around 10 stone soaking wet and he needed a crew to race his Mirror dinghy.
The bar, in fact, played a large part of sailing during club nights on Bristol’s Floating Harbour and for post-race commiserations at various reservoirs and rivers across Wales and the West Country.
I spent a couple of happy years with George and thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of racing and more especially being on the water. We never won anything during our time together but my life was definitely enhanced by the experience of harnessing the wind and the harmony of two people in a boat.
Sailing quickly disappeared from my horizon and apart from couple of outings with a friend and his wife it seemed it would never return. During holidays in Greece I’d often spend time enviously watching crews moor up on late, balmy afternoons excitedly talking about their day. I often dreamt of someday arriving at a small, sunny marina and sitting back to enjoy a glass of something chilled until the sun disappeared into the sea.
I had to wait 37 years until I got back onto a sailing yacht when my wifeJacquie and I took part in a 'Discover Sailing' event with the Civil Service sailing division based at Ipswich harbour during three damp days in April . . . not many chilled drinks on deck. We enjoyed ourselves so much we returned a few months later and took our Competent Crew certificates. They were never awarded to us after we decided we couldn’t afford to join the club . . . and with that my dream was sunk.
Nine years later and purely by accident a light was ignited somewhere far off and the dream was reborn. I had signed up for kayaking sessions on the Thames with the Westminster Boating Base and noticed they were holding a Day Skipper theory course. I joined the 10-week intensive introduction into safety, passage making, navigation and all aspects of yacht sailing with nine other like-minded souls who trudged through the wintry streets of Pimlico from January to March, with the hope that their own dreams were within reach.
Just six months later, I headed to Gosport Marina to join three other keen students to spend five days on the Solent with Nomad Sailing aboard Nomad II with RYA examiner Andrew Pascoots to try for our Day Skipper Certificates. Thankfully all our efforts were rewarded and armed with my little 'licence' I can begin a new voyage of discovery.
I will soon be back out on the Solent with one of my Day Skipper crewmates where we will be increasing our learning curves with one of the Nomad yachts and hone our new found skills.
Jacquie and I have just booked our second trip with Activity Holidays Greece sailing out of Nidri on the beautiful Greek island of Lefkada.
It was there just two months before my practical test on the Solent, that we joined a dedicated, fun team of skippers along with a delightful crewmate, who not only passed on their skills and knowledge but guided me towards my goal of becoming a Day Skipper.
So it was 47 years after my first sailing experience with the wonderful George Simpkins, with chilled drink in hand and sun dipping into the Ionian Sea that my dream was finally fulfilled. Undoubtedly the first of many. Cheers George!
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Emma Cowell’s adventure into the snow and ice of northern Norway, came to a stormy end in the remote countryside, just 114km from the finish line of the Finnmarksløpet 500km dog sled race.
She arrived in Levajok with eight healthy and happy dogs all eating well and free from injury, but due to storm conditions, high winds and 50cm of fresh, wet snow on the toughest mountain stage between Levajok and Skogavarre, it was decided in the best interests of both dogs and her own safety to retire.
Emma was more than happy to continue, but felt the yearlings on the team needed more time before heading out to face such extreme conditions.
“My decision to scratch was an easy one when I arrived at Levajok checkpoint,” said Emma.
“The couple of teams ahead were waiting for us, so we could head out together at 5am the next day as this was our only opportunity during a break in the storm to climb the toughest leg of the race over the mountain to Skoganvarre as safely as possible.
“It was not meant to be. The local trail breakers on snow scooters had just got back from checking on a musher stuck at the top who was an experienced Bear Grylls type. He took 16 hours to complete the leg and another team had returned defeated by the conditions.
“They reported the trail markers had been blown away in 20 metres-a-second wind (60 mph) and half-a-metre of snow had fallen covering the trail and rain had started making it very soft - a bit like a sandy beach but we call it sugary snow.
“This was not going to be a positive experience for the dogs mentally, let alone the risk of us being blown off our feet. The other teams decided to scratch and I felt there was always another day to conquer this mountain in more relatively safe conditions.”
As a rookie of the race she started with a mix of excitement and nervous energy.
“I was nervous in case I couldn't live up to my dogs’ expectations of communication and care.
“As we got further into the race, I was on a steep learning curve, which I haven’t begun to start to process until now when I look back at my fantastic experience.
“The arctic landscape was amazing. Sledding by moonlight with a Northern Lights show all around me, I realised we were being tracked by a wolf, which was slightly un-nerving as it was only then, the realisation hit that we were, indeed, all alone in this vast space.”

In the safety and comfort of her home, Emma looked back on her efforts and experiences in the Arctic wilderness.
“After the race, my initial reflection was positive and mainly concentrated on what impact the chronic conditions had on me and how I can better prepare to manage my physical and cognitive flaws in the future.”
Emma’s trek is made more amazing by the fact that she suffers Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Emma was diagnosed with the condition after she had entered for the race, but decided to carry it through after taking part in an unassisted qualifying event of 220km to prove to herself she was able to complete the race in one piece.
“With the support of my business sponsors, friends and family, all my equipment was specially adapted and race plans were adjusted to help me take part.”
In recognition if her condition she has taken the opportunity to raise funds for the for the Fibromyalgia Association UK, a charity which strives to improve the treatment options for sufferers. She has so far raised £127.50, including Gift Aid.
If you would like to donate you can still do so by going to her fundraising page at http://tinyurl.com/184ntag

While most of us will be looking out of the window this morning hoping for a little sunshine to brighten the day, Emma Cowell will be also have an eye on the weather forecast as she prepares for a 500km race across the snow and ice of Western Finnmark in Norway.
The London-based 40 year old, from Hertfordshire, will be setting off from Alta with her team of eight Siberian huskies this morning and will expect to finish sometime on Tuesday morning if all goes well.
She will be England’s only entrant in a field of 62 in the Finnmarksløpet FL-500 and takes part in the race for the first time.
The winning musher will be the one who crosses the line in the faster time with their team intact and healthy. Emma fell in love with dog sledding while studying in Alta and has been keen to take part in the race for years.
She usually takes part in races in Britain under the auspices of the British Siberian Husky Racing Association. These are in forests over tracks instead of snow and being pulled in a sled with wheels attached instead of runners.
The first Finnmarksløpet was in 1981 with just three mushers participating, but the race and the sport has been such a massive success, now around 130 entrants cross the start line each year. It has led to the sport becoming the biggest sporting and cultural event in the region and a symbol of Finnmark itself.
On top of that, since 2009 NRK (Norwegian broadcasting Corporation) has screened the race daily, with a massive ratings across the country.
The company Finnmarksløpet AS, which organises the race, has seen worldwide interest towards Norway and Finnmark during the race. The ratings on NRK TV and its own Digital media on the firm’s website amazing increase every year.
The start is from downtown Alta, across western Finnmark to return back to the city centre by Tuesday morning if the weather conditions and tracks are fairly good.
To follow Emma's progress in the race go to www.finnmarkslopet.no

Being born eight years after the end of the Second World War, much of my early childhood was dominated by stories and the effects of the war on the generations before mine.
There were films on TV every week and permanently showing at the cinema. Children’s comic heroes included mighty marine, Captain Hurricane and Braddock VC, who together could have ended the war within a couple of months, if their tales were anywhere near fact. Commando magazine, a small cartoon picture book, telling true tales of heroic actions was a must for us kids.
So it is with surprise that growing up against this backdrop, I didn’t ask my grandfather about the time he spent on the frontline and in trenches as a sapper in the First World War.  
In fact, I never knew much about him at all, and it’s only in later years that I discovered about his life, let alone the time he spent in the fields of Flanders.
He died when I was nineteen, so I had enough time to find out more, but it never occurred to me then to ask what it was like when he was young; what his parents were like, or where he grew up. He wasn’t the type to say ‘when I was a boy’ or ‘during the war’, so I never asked him.
I can still draw him to mind, though. I remember his watery, pale blue eyes, the deeply etched creases below the hairline on his neck and his almost unnatural quietness. I never heard him raise his voice. He never indulged in any conversations and allowed everyone else to do the talking. Words from him were few and far between.
Recently, though, I’ve begun to learn a little more about the life of Robert Charles Hayman, as a young man, when he fought in the First World War with the Royal Engineers, during which he witnessed the horrors of trench warfare.
My older brother said my grandfather had told him he would take his time climbing out of trenches, and immediately drop to the ground when his comrades began to fall in front of him under gunfire.  He would only get back to his feet when it stopped.
As a blacksmith by trade, I doubt he would have been crossing open ground towards enemy lines, as the majority of his time would have been spent working in the smithy keeping  machinery running and horses shod.
So, according to my grandfather, he was no hero. No racing across open ground to capture enemy trenches single-handed. No mentions in despatches or medals for bravery. He was simply another soldier who did just enough to stay alive and was lucky not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  If he actually did take his time climbing out of trenches or fall over under gunfire, it’s something I’ll never really know, because I never had that conversation with him.
Remarkably though, one thing he did during his time in and around the battlefields of Ypres was to put his name into the record books of that war. It wasn’t an act of courage, but like hundreds, if not thousands of his fellow soldiers, he picked up a memento of his time in Ypres.   My grandfather’s ‘treasure’ was a little brass candleholder of no more than four inches high, which he took back to his home in Bristol during leave in August 1917 before going back into action in Northern Italy.
The candleholder, always polished and gleaming, stayed with him for the rest of his life. He told my mother he picked it up from the remains of a building he thought was a church. He said he always felt guilty about taking it and asked her to return it if she ever visited Ypres.
My grandfather never saw the candleholder returned. He never revisited the battlefields of Flanders in peacetime. He died in 1972 and following the death of my grandmother in 1988, the candleholder was passed to my mother, who in turn passed on to me the responsibility of returning it to the little Belgian city.
 The response to my email to the In Flanders Fields Museum in Ypres about the candlestick and my grandfather’s wish was swift. Within hours I was discussing a date and time to visit the museum to hand it over.
Museum archivist Annick Vandenbilcke was surprisingly delighted with the latest addition to the ever-growing collection of returned objects from the First World War.
“Everything we receive has its own special importance, regardless of how big or how small,” she said.
“Since we opened the museum in 1998 we have received more than 250 private donations of war memorabilia and artefacts.
“Hardly a week has passed without the museum receiving some new bequest or gift.”
The donations are made by people from all over the world and more recently a striking number from Germany. Items range from faded, battered photographs right through to complete uniforms.
Ms Vandenbilcke said a great many of the objects the museum received were actually returning home.
“By May 1915 the civilian population of Ieper (Ypres) had been evacuated and the city was given over to the British Army, who lodged in the basements and cellars. It was inevitable they would go souvenir hunting in the ruins,” she said.
“Wood carvings, statues and small pieces of stained glass from the Cathedral or the Cloth Hall became cherished possessions after the war and have been lovingly cared for, for a lifetime. Now the descendants of those soldiers have decided the time has come for those items to make the journey back.”
So it was, for example, that a photograph of an anonymous Ypres family was finally returned to the city 82 years after it was originally removed by a British soldier.
The archivists are extremely sensitive to the emotional value and significance returned items have for their temporary owners and show great care in documenting the stories attached to each item.
Many of the personal stories linked to donated objects have been given a place in the ‘people’ kiosk in the museum.
In my case they copied my photographs of my grandfather during the First World War and in return were able to tell me about his regiment and the part it played in the rest of the war.
 A visit to the fantastic museum gave me an insight into what my grandfather would have experienced and witnessed in the time he spent dodging the bullets and falling over on the battlefields of that terrible war.
I can’t begin to imagine what it was like to live in fear of your life or how he felt when one of his pals was killed in front of him. But I think I can now understand why he was such a quiet, gentle man.
Thanks to that little candlestick I learned more about my grandfather than I could have ever thought possible and I feel so proud I was able to include his name in the history books of the Belgian town of Ypres.
The In Flanders Fields Museum can be contacted by e-mail on flandersfields@ieper.be.

I came across this fascinating sculpture in Victoria Tower Gardens by the Houses of Parliament.
The Burghers of Calais (Les Bourgeois de Calais) is one of the most famous sculptures by Auguste Rodin, completed in 1888. It serves as a monument to an occurrence in 1347 during the Hundred Years' War, when Calais, an important French port on the English Channel, was under siege by the
English for over a year.
Edward III, after a victory in the Battle of Crécy, laid siege to Calais and Philip VI of France ordered the city to hold out at all costs. Philip failed to lift the siege and starvation eventually forced the city to parley for surrender. Edward offered to spare the people of the city if any six of its top leaders would surrender themselves to him, presumably to be executed. Edward demanded that they walk out almost naked and wearing nooses around their necks and be carrying the keys to the city and castle.
Their heroism moved the King’s French wife Philippine of Hainault to plead successfully for their pardon. Edward bowed to his wife’s wishes and spared the band of six men and the Calasiens.

What a fantastic sculpture.

For as long as artists have reproduced their visions, they have searched high and low to create their work using as many varied materials as they possibly can.
From a time of using dyes to daub simple pictures on the walls of their caves, to breaking fragile stone, carving wood, or heating clay and glass they seem to have tried everything. And during a visit to Texas Hill Country during, June, they showed what they could do with the humble gourd. 
The South West Gourd Show at the Kerrville Arts and Cultural Centre brings together more than 100 carved, painted and inlaid gourds by the best artists in the USA.
I had a look around it this morning and was astonished with the quality and beauty of their work. If you’re in town whatever you do don’t miss out.
For more information about regular exhibitions go to http://kacckerrville.com/
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