Franz Wacik (1833- 1938)

Franz Wacik was originally a student at the painting school Strehblow. Later on he studied at the Kunstgewerbeschule Wien with Alfred Roller . From 1902 to 1908 he studied painting with Christian Griepenkerl , Franz Rumpler and Heinrich Lefler at the Vienna Art Academy. Wacik devoted himself to book illustration, mainly in children's and youth books. He illustrated mostly in color, works by Hans Christian Andersen , fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm , stories by ETA Hoffmann , Hugo von Hofmannsthal , Clemens Brentano, and also the folk book by Till Eulenspiegel. For the series of books on Austria's Hall of Fame he took on the volumes on Franz Schubert and Franz Grillparzer, for the weekly magazine The Muskete he made hundreds of color illustrations, and also contributed to the Youth Red Cross. His works particularly stand out for the ambitious series Gerlach's Youth Library, again with Andersen's Fairy Tales and illustrations to Baron von Münchhausen.

Jose Gonzalez: With the Ink of a Ghost (2015)

With the Ink of a Ghost is the opening track of Swedish singer-songwriter Jose Gonzalez's 3rd studio album Vestiges & Claws. It was released on 17 February 2015 on Mute Records.

"These are incredibly moving songs full of bittersweet asides that strike you at first with their haiku-like simplicity, only to draw you deeper into González's iceberg of ideas. Ultimately, it's this ability to stop you in your tracks and hold you with the warmth of his voice as you contemplate your existence that makes Vestiges & Claws such an arresting, uplifting joy." (Matt Collar of AllMusic )

Got to agree!

Lytham St. Annes

This was one of those impromptu days where you end up going wherever your nose leads you, and it works out to the good. It started out with me playing taxi driver and chaperone to my mum, who had a hospital appointment in Liverpool. We drove from Stockport to Liverpool, and after the appointment, we decided it was too nice a day to just head home, so I suggested Lytham St. Annes. 

Like a complete dope, I thought Lytham was only just north of Southport, and indeed it is, but necessarily via Preston and over the Ribble, via the M55 and far & away. Hey ho. We got there in the end and found the parking on the seafront easy. Mum was feeling well enough to walk along the promenade, into the town where we had fish and chips al fresco, and then through some of the funky arcade novelty/antiques shops, and back again to walk along to the windmill. We spent some time lingering on a bench looking out across the Ribble, in the gentle lucency of the sun, cosseted by a warm tidal breeze. In all, it was a perfect unplanned visit to the seaside capped off with an obligatory ice cream. 

Although it was a good week before the equinox, there was a sense of harmony and balance in nature that day. The tide swelled and swallowed up the estuary and rickety jetty. The sun arced boldly across the sky, seeking its rest and extinguishment in the Irish sea. The journey back was uncomplicated. We had waited for rush hour to peter out before we set off, and the sky was illuminated by a scarlet sunset awash with magic and awe.

Fairfield Half-Horseshoe Fail from Grasmere

Always a bold move to place yourself in somebody else's hands when it comes to planning a walk. All the more bold when your guide is one of those sans-map, winging it kind of sporty types who believes they can just excavate their way out of any trouble with a bowie knife (avalanches, broken legs, earthquakes, difficult to open tupperware boxes, etc). Never trust a walker who doesn't wear socks: never trust anyone on the tops!   

So I can't say for certain the route I traversed, but I know we started in Grasmere, passed Alcock Tarn, and headed up the first half of the Fairfield Horseshoe at breakneck speed. I just wasn't fit enough and pegged out a couple of times on the way up, not that Buzz Lightyear was bothered, having trotted off ahead by a few furlongs. Although I had (literally) done the hard yards and managed to ascend Fairfield (the rest being ridge walking), I was just in shreds so we took a turn east and descended back to Grasmere along a reasonably pleasant path not pictured below (if only I had been in any fit state to enjoy it). By making the impromptu descent I think we carved about 8km (5 miles) off the intended walk for which I was existentially thankful. This is only the 2nd walk I have had to cut short in my life, but it does show you even experienced walkers are not invulnerable and emphasises several time-honoured rules:

1. Always look out for your buddy, tracking back if you have to

2. Always have a PLANNED off-ramp (escape route) off the mountains and don't be ashamed to use it.

3. Even if you are fit enough to accomplish a walk, be prepared for the unlikely event of becoming unwell or incapacitated. Even a twist of the ankle can quite radically change the calculus of a walk.

4. Tell somebody who is not on the walk where you are going and an approximate time of return.

5. Keep your mobile charged. 

Stay safe!

Brecon Beacons & Ross on Wye

We went glamping in the Brecon Beacons for the weekend, doing only a bit of lazy walking on the Saturday with a visit to Ross on Wye on the Sunday. One of the best things about the glamping unit was the presence of a log fired hot tub. With the flames, the water, the cool air and the stars above, its a very primal experience. I can see how the Scandinavians derive such ecstasy from it that they feel the need to beat themselves back to sensibility with birch branches and roll about in snow. One thing I learned was that there is a lag time of about 1 hour to 90 minutes with the heating of the log burner and the temperature of the tub, so you need to get started long before you intend to jump in. Also, when the water gets unbearably hot, the only way to cool it down is to use a hose of cold water to top up, so have one handy. Musing as I did over the capricious nature of the specific heat capacity of water, I forgot to take a picture of the apparatus, which was joyfully lit with different coloured LED lights a bit like a Christmas tree, so I have included a picture off the internet to show you what I am talking about. The others are random clips from the weekend. 

Citroen Type H and C-10

Here is a strange blog topic for me. I went to a giant car storage park in Rochdale on a grimy day in winter 2018, and was struck by the presence of a Citroen Type H van warmly masquerading as a fire engine amongst the army of camper vans and motorhomes. Naturally I took a few photos, did a bit of research, and a Bohemian Budgie Blog was born. 

Of all the quirky workhorses to ever rumble along Europe’s backroads, the Citroën Type H van holds a special kind of charm. It’s the sort of machine that makes people smile when they see it, even if they don’t know what it is. It’s unmistakably French; practical, a little eccentric, and deeply rooted in the post-war spirit of making do with what you’ve got, but doing it with style. 

Born in 1947, the Type H was Citroën’s answer to a pressing problem: France needed to get back on its feet after the devastation of World War II, and businesses across the country needed a simple, rugged, and affordable way to move goods. Citroën, already known for its engineering ingenuity, took the challenge seriously. What they came up with wasn’t just functional; it was revolutionary. 

The van’s corrugated metal panels were its signature feature, a clever design trick borrowed from German wartime aircraft. The ridges added strength without piling on weight, giving the Type H the durability of a tank with the agility of a city van. Its front-wheel-drive layout, taken straight from Citroën’s Traction Avant, allowed for a low, flat load floor; easy to climb into, easy to load, and far ahead of its time. Every inch of the Type H was built with purpose, but in that distinctly Citroën way, practicality didn’t mean sacrificing personality. 

Over the decades, the Type H proved itself endlessly adaptable. It hauled vegetables to market, delivered fresh baguettes, served as a mobile butcher’s shop, and even ferried the wounded as an ambulance. Craftsmen loved it. Street vendors depended on it. It became part of the scenery in villages and towns, blending into daily life until it was impossible to imagine the French countryside without one. 

But to understand how Citroën arrived at something as charmingly utilitarian as the Type H, you need to look at the ideas bubbling inside the company during that same period; ideas that led not just to practical vans, but also to some of the most imaginative concept cars of the time. One of these was the Citroën C-10, a tiny teardrop of a car that couldn’t have been more different from the workaday Type H, but was born from the same restless curiosity about what cars could be. 

The C-10, sometimes called the "Coccinelle" (French for ladybug), was a study in minimalism and aerodynamics. It was designed to be ultra-light and ultra-efficient, a futuristic pod for a post-war world hungry for affordable mobility. Its slippery, egg-like shape couldn’t have been further from the corrugated bulk of the Type H, but both vehicles shared a single guiding principle: make the most of what’s available, and don’t be afraid to solve problems in unconventional ways. 

In a sense, the C-10 and the Type H are like two sides of the same coin. One explored efficiency in motion, while the other mastered efficiency in function. Both showed that Citroën was not just in the business of building cars and vans; they were in the business of rethinking what vehicles could be, with an eye for practicality and a flair for the unexpected. 

The Type H finally bowed out in 1981, after more than three decades of faithful service. By then, the world had changed, and newer vans like the Citroën C25 were ready to take over. But the Type H never really disappeared. It lived on in memory and affection, its silhouette instantly recognizable and its spirit woven into the cultural fabric of France. Today, restored Type H vans still roam the streets, repurposed into coffee trucks, food stalls, or stylish vintage haulers. It’s a machine that was built to work; and somehow, it became a legend.

Reference

Citroën (2019) Retromobile UK: 100 Years of Vehicles Inspired by You. Citroën UK. Available at: https://www.citroen.co.uk/content/dam/citroen/uk/b2c/about-citroen/making-history/pdf/retromobile_uk.pdf

Astley Lake & Balance Reservoir

I went to visit a canalboat-dwelling friend who is moored at the Lemonroyd Waterside & Marina. It is not too far from Leeds, but as the Canal & River Trust say it is on the "River Aire [which] follows a twisting route through the hidden corners of Yorkshire." It really is watery country up there. The river Aire actually starts at Malham Tarn, and plunges underground about a mile or so before the famous Cove. In 1699 an act of Parliament was passed to make the Aire navigable South of Leeds, which led to the creation of the Aire & Calder Navigation, now connecting the Humber with Leeds over 34 miles and entailing 11 locks. The whole area is an interlocking matrix of Navigation, natural river, reservoirs and lakes which is a water wonderland ripe for exploration on foot, or by boat.

So, with blood up from a canalboat wood-stove roasted pork belly, helped along by an aromatic coffee from a local cafe, we took a suitably meandering walking route around these splendid water bodies. Some of the footpaths were flooded at this time of year, which made for some eerie misty feels.

Loch Katrine & Ben A'an

Among the first of the features of Scotland which visitors to the country express a wish to see are the island reaches of the " Queen of Scottish Lakes", and the bosky narrows and mountain pass at the eastern end of Loch Katrine, which are known as the Trossachs. During the Great War of 1914-8, when large numbers of convalescent soldiers from the dominions overseas streamed through Glasgow, so great was their demand to see these famous regions, that constant parties had to be organized to conduct them over the ground.

In character Loch Katrine is somewhat like the upper end of Loch Lomond, but is lonelier and wilder. There is no road along its southern shore, and that along the north is but little frequented. Some of the names of places along that shore are formidable enough. Among them, Strongalvaltrie, Edraleachdach, and Brenachoil offer something like dislocation to Sassenach jaws, and are only matched by the Gaelic spelling of the mountain which appears on the map and in poetry as Ben Venue, which is Beinnmheadhonaidh, and by the old Gaelic name of the Trossachs Hotel—Ard-cheanochrochan. The loch has an islet at each end, Eilean Dhu near Glengyle, and Eilean Molach, or Ellen's Isle, near the Trossachs. Both of these were doubtless used by the Macgregor clansmen as places of refuge for their women and children in times of extreme danger, though the loch shores were altogether so inaccessible in bygone times that they offered a very secure retreat. So steep are the mountain-sides at Glengyle, for instance, that a deer shot far up on the sky-line has been brought down to the door of the house almost entirely by its own weight; and the scores of streams that leap and foam down the wild corries are many of them indeed "white as the snowy charger's tail".

Eyre-Todd, George, 1920. Loch Lomond, Loch Katrine and the Trossachs. London and Glasgow: Blackie and Son.