But after a good chunk of ever-so-reliable internet research I chose to visit The Old Ferry Boat Inn in Hollywell, near St Ives, Cambridgeshire.

Many will contest that Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem is the oldest Inn in the Britain and on the many occasions I found myself drinking in ‘The Trip’ as a teenager I heard the same.

For me though, I was intrigued by the claim that the Old Ferry Boat’s foundations may date back to 460AD and that ‘records show’ liquor was served from 560AD.

Having been rebuilt a few times, as is often the case with thatched buildings that suffer a fire, It’s hard to prove much of what’s claimed. Even if the body of jilted lover Juliet Tewsley still lies under the stone in the floor that’s visible from the bar. In fact when I popped in today there was a man sat upon her alleged resting place, eating pie.

I was on the way to an internet free retreat in Norfolk where I hoped to get some work done when on the A14 I realised just how close I was to The Old Ferry Boat Inn.

So I took a diversion and parked up out front on the banks of the swollen River Ouse.

When I asked the bar manager (Kat) if I could interview her about the history of the Pub she gave me a firm no and told me she was not allowed to talk to the media. I explained that I was blogging because I loved to share stories and my intentions were purely honorable. No joy though. Apparently Greene King have a strict policy against such conversations taking place with mere staff and if I had phoned ahead they could have prepared a press release.

I can’t begin to tell you how much this pissed me off. Nothing to do with Kat. She was courteous and polite and explained that if she talked to me she was in breach of her contract. She gave me the phone number of the Greene King PR department written on the back of a card saying “Please review us on Trusted Places”. The irony was not lost on me.

I took my drink and my frustrations to the other side of the bar. I thought about how these places are all about stories and storytelling, and that no one has owned those stories for the last 1500 years so why think you can just take ownership because it suits your ‘Public Relations’ modus operandi.

I think it’s foolish to sacrifice public relationships in the name of public relations. All I wanted was a little history around the pub that I was currently enjoying. Interesting how the brewery trusts the Manager with the running of the place and all the financial responsibilities that that comes with that, but bans them from sharing it’s history with someone who may share it with others.

Anyway, I quickly realised that it wasn’t the Manager I needed to talk to but some locals who have drank there through numerous landlords, owners and managers.

I soon got chatting to two regulars called James and Paul. Two guys who knew the place, it’s people and it’s stories. We had a lovely unrestricted chat. As things should be. I told them I was a blogger and fascinated with these kind of places. These story hubs. These locations in space and time where for countless years, maybe 1500 in this case, people have made connections, told stories and shared news. Social networks.

It was a shame that I couldn’t record a chat with those that ran the pub. The current keepers of it’s story. But then perhaps its legends and tales that have become popularised over the years are the least interesting in the grand scheme of things. So much has happened in the Old Ferry Boat’s alleged 1500 years. How is it possible to even touch upon it’s rich history? Nearly all of it undocumented.

Maybe I should have just sat and soaked up the atmosphere. An atmosphere that was initially cold and unwelcoming due to the controlling hand of a hidden corporation threatening to slap any worker who dared to have an opinion, a care.

Storytelling in general is a communal act. Taverns were the new open fires.  Thankfully in this tavern I was saved by the Inn’s loyal patrons, James and Paul. They made the space what it was. The most recent in a long line of amateur historians. Keepers of the stories and ambassadors for this small space that has potentially brought strangers together for a one thousand five hundred years.

They left me reminded of how we are all made of stories. Of what Alan Rickman said..

“And it’s a human need to be told stories. The more we’re governed by idiots and have no control over our destinies, the more we need to tell stories to each other about who we are, why we are, where we come from, and what might be possible.”

I recorded some audio after I left..

This was part of my 40at40 list.

57 year old Sourdough

It was meeting Tom Herbert at the Do Lectures that inspired me to have a go at baking sourdough. And it was Tom who gave me a jar of 57 year old (55 years old in 2010) sourdough to take home and try.

Baking kit

Luckily it came with a handy recipe card with all I would need to know to get going.

The ingredients were listed as so:

Strong white flour  -  460g

Sourdough  -  300g

Sea Salt  -  10g

Warm Water  -  230ml

There was a whole heap of kit I was recommended to use and I got hold of what I could

Kit listed:

Oven 230°c at baking time

Digital scales

Large mixer bowl

Water sprayer

Cling film

Sharp knife

Proving basket

Baking stone and plastic scraper

Oven gloves

I had fed the sourdough 12 hours before I was due to start and this involved adding 75g of warm water and 75g of wholemeal flour to my existing 225g. I gave it a mix and left it out.

12 hours later I assembled my kit and weighed all the ingredients into the mixing bowl, mixing together with the plastic scraper. Once I had a rough wet dough I turned it onto a table and got to work on it.

Working the sourdough

It was a little wetter than I wanted but after about 10 mins work I got it looking like a stretchy soft lump.

I then popped the dough back into the mixing bowl and covered it with clingfilm. While I left it for half an hour to relax, I fed my sourdough and popped in in the fridge for next time.

After half an hour I lightly dusted the table and plopped the dough out and molded it into a rough dough shape. I then dusted the proving basket with flour and placed in the dough covering it with clingfilm. I then left it for 12 hours.

When I returned it hadn’t doubled in size but I thought stuff it. This was my first attempt and I was getting hungry.

I heated the baking stone to 230°c and teased the dough onto the stone. As per instructions I marked the top and sprayed, or rather splashed water with a brush (as I didn’t have a sprayer) on the top of the dough.

Half an hour later.. I had a loaf!

The finished sourdough loaf

And what a loaf. I taped it to check for the hollow sound and although it was thinner than I had hoped, the important thing for me was the taste.

I wasn’t disappointed. It was absolutely delicious. I knew I could work on getting the rise right but the taste was better than I expected.

Enjoying a sourdough snack

It didn’t last long.

Since making my first my following experiments have gone from strength to strength.

I want to thank Tom Herbert for the inspiration and highly recommend anyone have a go at making a sourdough loaf.

________________________

(I am writing this post up after the event and the sourdough is now 58 years old!)

This post is part of my list of 40 things to do while 40 years old.

I’m @Documentally on Twitter and App.net

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“You must go and drink a Bellini in Harry’s Bar.”

I’m pretty susceptible to suggestions involving exotic drinks in interesting locations. So it went on the list.

If I’m honest I’d never knowingly had a Bellini, or heard of Harry’s bar. It sounded like an easy challenge though. Go to a bar and have a drink. It’s not like it’s The Old Forge, (the UK’s most isolated pub after all, I was flying to Venice with my wife so we could catch the Orient Express. Another adventure on the list.

I read up on Harry’s bar and it’s fascinating story intrigued me.

After a morning of Venetian meanderings we eventually stumbled upon it by accident. I spotted ‘Harry’s Bar’ written in the frosted glass on an unassuming building after crossing the bridge from St Marks square. It wasn’t an easy place to find, even with it clearly popping up as ‘local’ on the app FourSquare. Originally I think it was even harder to find, as before the building of the bridge it was at the end of a blind ally. This appealed to founder Giuseppe Cipriani as he wanted people to visit who weren’t just passing by, but knew the place and visited specially.

The narrow door opened tightly onto a wooden screen so people loitering outside could not see who was drinking inside. If you needed a wheelchair or were even a little rotund this would certainly be interesting logistically.

Once inside a pristine white jacketed waiter handed us a menu before we sat down. I took a quick look, gulped at the prices and not wanting to lose face gestured to the corner and asked, “Can we sit here?”

“No problemo.” he said. We had passed the first test. We soon saw that this was a warning system that had many tourists turning and retreating. Their day’s budget intact.

We had decided on the mission in hand and nothing else. Two 18€ Bellini‘s, to be supped slowly and nothing more.

This was of course where the Bellini was invented. Sometime between 1934 and 1948 Giuseppe Cipriani started mixing Prosecco and peach Purée. A simple enough list of ingredients. Especially for £15 a glass. The original was all about the white peaches and the drop of raspberry or cherry juice to give the pink hue.

This is what we watched being made for us and we cradled our cool glasses between each sip. Another waiter brought us some delicious olives and hot nibbles from the restaurant and I gave him the international facial expression for “Is this free?” and they were.  And they tasted even better for it.

Once you put the prices out of mind, it did have an intriguing atmosphere. The frosted light on a hot day.  The old wood paneling absorbing the whispered conversations from smart suited mysterious folk. Some meeting to discuss who knows what and others sat catching up on the news.

I got to thinking about all the characters who had drank and got drunk in this small space. Clientele known the world over who used this place as a sanctuary. Who’s corner I may be sat in.  Noel Coward, Charlie Chaplin, Somerset Maugham, Barbera Hutton, Guglielmo Marconi, Orson Welles, Truman Capote

And I sipped slowly.

To see the whole list as it evolves visit 40at40.co.uk

I have been fascinated with science fiction since before I can remember.

As a child, my agnostic Dad taught religious education in a Coventry school while not really believing the half of it himself. Our bookshelves were filled with all kinds of religious texts, science texts, and those that lay somewhere in between.

I remember before I understood them, looking at the covers of a series of Erich von Däniken paperbacks. The Swiss author and his controversial claims about extraterrestrial influences on early human culture were being continually questioned. Yet they led me to start a collection of Sci-Fi. Comics, Star Wars magasines, The Usborne World of the Unknown: UFOs. Then onto Azimov.

I just liked the ideas. With my strict Roman Catholic Grandmother prying prayer time and heavy religious ideas into my head, I liked to have a backup concept. Some foundation of pseudoscience I could lay a confused religious ideology on. If I could think of Jesus as a spaceman, a Jedi. It all made more sense.

Escaping into a book is one thing. Escaping into a book whos story takes you a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.. and yet they already have jetpacks!  Now that’s escapism.

These authored thought experiments had me hooked. So much so that everything I wrote at school, even if kickstarted with the teachers paragraph, had my protagonists waking up in a lab on a space station or defusing a meteor bomb on a collision course with my stuffy classroom.

I was five years old in 1977. That was the year the cinema really began to mean something. I saw The Hobbit. A crude animation on reflection and pretty scary as i recall. And then of course there was Star Wars.

Star Wars ‘A New Hope’ and the following two films shaped my imagination, my play, my Sci-Fi fascinations. So when I saw there was going to be Star Wars convention at Elstree Studios I had to go.

The convention was called Elstree Empire Day and it was just as much about the props and production as it was about the story and those who played apart in it. The Gold ticket I bought was £110 and entitled me to ‘free’ autographed photos.

I got to meet the producer Gary Kurtz, we had a really interesting chat as I appeard to have caught him before anyone realised who he was. We talked about his photography, the gear he used all those years ago and  his disagreements with George Lucas. I left feeling he was a thoroughly nice chap.

I also got to meet a Storm Trooper, R2-D2, Darth Vader, Dak (who also played Bobba Fett) and loads of other guys from the film.

I also got to queue up alot.

I’ll leave you with the audio I recorded as I was leaving. It should paint a decent picture of my experience.

The autograph factory

As I touched upon in a previous blog post, some people change their motorbike every year. If a bike is well looked after, the trade-in price or money from a private sale can go a long way to securing the latest model.

There are I’m sure a heap of reasons for people to ‘trade up’, The wrong choice in the first place, fitness levels, an evolution in riding style, but sometimes it can be just plain peer pressure as other riding buddies go shopping for the latest and greatest spec to roll out of the factory.

Personally I’m not sure there are any great advancements year on year outside of styling and sometimes these can be as subtle as a colour change.

When I rolled up to a Woburn Triumph garage in 2010 I was sat on a BMW f650gs. A bike I felt over complicated for my needs. I had the cash in my pocket for a second hand Street Triple i’d seen advertised and while waiting to take it out for a test ride I was given the Scrambler 900 to try.

I fell in love with it immediately. As I said in my previous blog..

It was everything I wanted in a bike. The ride, the sound, the simplicity. And it wasn’t tuned like a Speeder Bike. It’s a timeless bike as much fun at 30 as it is at 90 (allegedly).

So why mess with it?

To make it mine is the simple answer.

To make it mine and something incomparable to other Triumphs. I looked at all the parts I could fix to the Scrambler. Simple things. Boltonable things. But they are off the shelf and if you hang around a Triumph dealer long enough you’ll be sure to see the guy who has bought them all. And bolted them on. And then everyone looks the same again.

When I caught sight of one of the bikes Spirit of the Seventies had modified, it was like nothing I’d seen before. I didn’t have the cash to go for an all out frame and engine remodeling. But after a couple of long chats on the phone with the MD Tim Rogers, I knew they were the guys i’d like to leave my bike with.

They asked me what I wanted and I created a pinterest mood board of a few things that had caught my eye. I too’d and fro’d uming and arring about what I wanted and Tim was super patient.

As well as the cosmetic tweaks, I had them do some work the bike needed to stay mechanically sound and pass it’s MOT.

Work done:

-Front tyre
-Renthal chain and sprockets
-Wheels powder coated black
-Bars and exhaust heat guards powder coated
-Engine cases powder coated
-New gaskets/oil for the above
-Tank, side panels painted by Graham at Revolution
-Progressive rear shocks
-Oberon indicators (including relays)
-Rear light, number plate bracket
-LSL Clubman headlamp
-LSL headlamp brackets
-Bespoke leather seat by Viking Vinyl with red stitching. Hide sourced by SOTS from Scotland.

The bike was with the guys for a little over a month. Their workshop and time is in massive demand at the moment and I was just glad they agreed to take it in. I did not expect the great level of continual communication and although it felt weird not having the bike around, I was in no rush I knew the bike was in good hands.

above photos by @SpiritOfThe70s

It was a wet and windy day when I went down to pick up the bike. It was a wet and windy ride all the way home. I didn’t mind. I was on my ‘new’ bike.

And I love it.

Photo taken on my iPhone 4s

Thanks to the guys at Spirit of the Seventies for their great service, hard work and fair price.

If you are looking for something similar or just want to ask them a question, they are on twitter as @SpiritOfThe70s or are easy to contact through their blog.

I was invited to Vienna by ‘ORF‘ Austria’s national public service channel. I was to be a guest on a TV show discussing the current challenges facing public service broadcasting.

My Austrian friend Dan picked me up from Gratz and we drove into Vienna a day earlier. Dan had read my 40at40 list and figured he could at least help knock one item off the list. He had wanted to take me on Europe’s longest toboggan run but it was off season and snow was certainly lacking.

He did know where I could get a Yodeling lesson though. So with a day free before my TV appearance we had time (and music) to kill.

In the heart of Vienna we found our way to a pop up Styrian festival. There was drinking and eating and drinking and dancing and singing and more drinking. Many people were in traditional dress and the atmosphere was fantastic. We ate a few Styrian dishes and drank a couple of traditional wines as Oompah bands played and belly laughs filled the air.

Although untrained, 13 years ago I used to have a go at Yodeling to bring the cows into view for counting when I worked as a ‘Pastore’ or cow herd in the Swiss alps. As far as I knew, this kind of use was rooted in it’s origins. Perhaps it tied in perfectly with my reasons for being in Austria and it was is seems an early form of public service broadcast.

There is certainly a geeky element to it as well. While chatting with the Austrian Yodeling teacher Herbert, he told me that the undulating sound produced by is repeatedly changing pitch can be likened to binary nougats and ones.

It was wonderful gaining a little insight and getting some tips and tricks from a guy who really knew his vocal undulations from a casual falsetto. And the public yodeling class was also lots of fun even if a slightly inebriated lady decided to jump on a bale and lead the crowd.

You can hear it here..

I’ll still need a few more lessons though (and a funny hat) if i’m going to get anywhere near the skills of Franzl Yang

Video URL: http://www.youtube.com/embed/vQhqikWnQCU

He loved his food.

In his final years, housebound and slowly going blind, conversation, food and the radio were his only real pleasures. My Gran looked after the food side of things. She would cook all the dishes he enjoyed through the 50+ years they were together. Italian from her side, Ukrainian from his, and then some dishes somewhere in the middle.

The main reason for adding ‘Eat in A Ukrainian restaurant’ to my 40at40 list was to relive some of the dishes. Relive and compare. Even when I visited the Ukraine via Russia during the Russian Constitutional Crisis in 1993 I never got to eat in a restaurant. I ate on the street, on trains and with family.

The hunt for a Ukrainian restaurant was not as easy as I thought it would be. Mainly because it appears the Ukrainian community prefer to eat at each others houses, or at the many Ukrainian societies dotted around the UK. I did think of actually visiting the Ukraine but I thought that a little extravagant what with all the other things I plan to do this year.

Luckily after a little googling and a couple of phone calls, (one to the Ukraine) I found the Albina. The only other London place listed was called ‘Divo’ and had the most incredibly bad reviews. It had also shut, luckily down.

So I headed to the Albina.

239 Barking road was a short walk from the overland train. As I entered I could hear a conversation at the end of the long thin restaurant between what seemed like regulars or friends of the barman. No words I understood though.

Under the cartwheel light fittings, the walls were adorned with painted plates, crockery, dolls and wooden medieval weaponary.  Windows painted on either side gave you the impression you were on the shores of a cartoon lake. I walked between the heavy set tables made of varnished logs towards the beach type bar in the bottom corner opposite the toilets. The only word the barman spoke that I understood was “Wodka?”

I used the universal nodding system I fall back on when anyone offers me a drink. I sampled two drinks, a peppery almost chilli laced Vodka and one made from birch sap. This was new to me but I have since learned that 12th century slavic manuscripts refer to the use of birch sap in alcoholic drink making. I’d certainly drink them again. In fact I did just that almost immediately.

After meeting the waiter I picked a seat by the door (just in case) and ordered one of my favourite meals, Borscht.

When it arrived my hunger allowed a pause long enough to take a photo before I was overcome by the aroma and appearance. It was truly delicious.

An apple juice accompanied my decision making where I had to decide between a main and a sweet or two mains. I went for the latter. I am more of a lover of the more substantial dishes and I wanted to experience as much as I could. Afterall I had no idea if I was ever to return.

I followed the Borscht with with Draniki, a kind of shredded potato cake served with mushrooms, chicken and sour cream in a pot. I think the pot more Belorussian than Ukrainian but I could see by the clientele popping in that there was certainly fusion dishes on the menu.

My final main course was Golupsie. Minced beef, rice onion and veg wrapped in cabbage leaves and sometimes baked in a sauce. I knew this dish was to push me over the comfortably full line, but this was an important taste from my childhood and a dish that I miss very much. It reminds me of dinners with my Granddad more than any other dish.

I really enjoyed my experience at Albina and am so glad I not only added this option to my list, but that I discovered this interesting and unique restaurant. The service was great and I’d love to return with friends for a proper drawn out night of food, drinking and if it’s on a Saturday, perhaps some embarrassing dance.

The final bill came to £26.90 as I think a few of my ‘sample’ vodkas were omitted. Wonderful value for such hearty simple foods that look more complex when cooked, presented and delivered confident in the knowledge these are great and honest dishes.

Here is some audio I recorded as I left.

If you’d like to help me complete an item off my list please let me know. Or simply subscribe to the blog or follow the tag 40at40 to see other posts as and when I complete them.

I’m 40 today.  When I was a kid I thought that I’d feel like an old man at this age but I don’t. I still feel like a kid. Like another version of that same kid that found it impossible to visualise what life would be like this far into the future.

Now I’m here and understand a little more of the world, I can see there are so many things I may never understand. And that’s ok. If I could go back and tell that little boy something it would be.. Face your fears, tell those you love that you love them, learn how to be less selfish as soon as possible, and don’t worry, no matter what happens you’ll never forget how to have fun… Oh and don’t expect jetpacks any time soon.

I’m no less hungry for life now, than I was then. I still want to know more, to learn more, to see more. I feel like I’ve been playing a game my whole life and the fun bit is learning. The harsher lessons not so much, but after time you realise that to feel and understand the the highs you need to take a datum from the lows.

I don’t want life to stop being fun. Even when I grow cynical I’d like to be playful with it. To remember that some of the most important lessons I’ve learn’t have come from the most traumatic times. Some of the best stories too.

I guess that’s one of the reasons I created a list of new things I’d like to experience this year. If I can fit in 40 new experiences between February 2012 and Feb 2013, it will not only be a year to remember, it will certainly be one of my best. If I can share some of these things with friends and family then even better.

Below I have a list of more than 40 things. Some silly, some probably difficult without stacks of cash or time, or both. But all do-able and I’ll choose 40 from this bucket list as I move through the year.

If you feel like you want to experience some of these things with me, let me know. Maybe you do this kind of stuff all the time and can help me explore new sports, past-times, food stuffs or cultural idiosyncrasies.

Either way, lets have fun.

____________________________

Here is a selection of my list. I’ll edit as I go through the year. Adding names and linking the content created as the experiences happen.

(Completed)

Go to a village pub dressed as a Stormtrooper The Star Wars kind.

Eat Ukrainian

Have a Yodeling lesson

Customize a Motorbike

Go to a Sci-Fi Convention (Blog post to come)

Walk in a blizzard

Bake a Sourdough Loaf

Drink a Bellini in Harry’s Bar

Travel on the Orient Express (Blog post to come)

Spend a night in a haunted house (Blog to come.)

Drink in Britain’s smallest pub (Blog post to come)

Spend time in a sensory deprivation (floatation) tank (Blog post to come)

Roast my own coffee (Blog to come)

Drink In britain’s oldest pub

Drive a modern electric car.

Taste wine straight from the barrel. (Blog to come)

(Still to do)

Walk from dawn till dusk.

Paraglide

Go Bell Ringing (possibly with Alex Foster)

Fly in a microlight

Deploy a flood barrier (with @Britt_W)

Book a karaoke booth (with help from @Marthalanefox & @LuckyVoice?)

Kitesurf (possibly with @175viatribunali)

Timber Rafting

Some kind of Cowboy experience. (not Brokeback Mountain.)

A snowshoe hike.

Explore the west coast of Scotland in a powered rib

Ride in a submarine

Try Morris Dancing (possibly with @ChristianHambly)

Have my portrait painted (with @PaulOz)

Fly in a hot air balloon

Go deep sea fishing (possibly with with @ChristianHambly)

Invent a cocktail

Get a Tattoo

Compile a list of achievements.

Celebrate St Patricks Day in Ireland (Missed it.)

Learn to hot wire a car

Drive a tank (possibly with with @Greenape)

Have a go at blacksmithing

Make my own knife

Ride out to the Ace Cafe for pie @SimFin)

Volo dell’Angelo (Flight of the Angels)

Visit a Cider Bar (possibly with with @Jamesmb)

Help man a lifeboat

Drink in the Largest Pub in England

Visit the Triumph Motorcycle factory

Brew my own beer in a micro brewery (With Draycott Brewery)

Learn to play Poker with a professional (arranged by @Ilicco)

Ride the tallest/fastest roller coaster in the UK

Load up a motorbike and go camping

Get a tailor made suit

See the Aurora Borealis

Learn about audio and acoustics in relation to field recording.

Write a letter to someone I admire and respect.

Spend an entire day offline reading a novel

Volunteer for a day

Spend a night in a protest camp

Learn Beekeeping

Make something on a 3d printer

Go Tobogganing 

Go Bat Watching

Blend my own whisky

The Storify showing the roots of how this list came about is linked here: Storify.com/documentally/40-at-40