Latest news with #Banham
BBC News
a day ago
- General
- BBC News
Campsite clampdown for 'aggressive' cat Harry
"He's fine, he's lovely," said Jonathan Wise, of Banham Butchers. "He's a cute little cat. "Sometimes when we open up he's out there waiting and will dart in hoping for a little sneaky sausage." Brian Mcallister, who runs The Barrel pub, said: "He's part of The Barrel family, and he's entertaining for everybody. He's a great character, we all love him." In a statement to the BBC, Ms Goymer said: "It was such a minor matter. "I had a conversation with the owner and it was all resolved, sharing our concerns for the cat's welfare and safety as a result of customer feedback we received, and the fact that I witnessed a potential accident happen in front of reception." Ms Wood said she had had several offers of a new home for Harry. "It would be sad for me to do that, but I just don't want him mistreated," she added.
BBC News
a day ago
- General
- BBC News
Banham campsite clampdown for 'aggressive' cat Harry
A campsite has complained to the owner of a neighbourhood cat that her wandering moggy was "aggressive" and could deter guests. Harry makes regular stop-offs at Applewood Countryside Park in his home village of Banham, Norfolk - but the company director claims he is far from the purr-fect a letter, she called on Harry's owner Janet Wood to "intervene" after he allegedly attacked a guest's dog and almost caused an accident by sitting in a driveway."I wasn't really sure whether to laugh or to get a little bit upset; I'm not sure he's that intimidating," said Ms Wood, who is considering rehoming him. "I'm really sorry he's upset people - it's a lovely campsite and the people there are lovely."He doesn't mean any harm." Applewood's director Kiera Goymour said she had heard about Harry's behaviour from a number of less-than-happy campers. The eight-year-old puss allegedly followed a dog walker on site and became "aggressive and attacked the dog", she stated in her letter."It continued to follow and act aggressively, which ultimately forced the guest to run across the park to get away," the letter same guest had seen Harry being affectionate with people but his aggression towards dogs would "seriously deter them from visiting again", Ms Goymour another occasion, Harry sat in front of reception, "impeding vehicle access, which nearly caused an accident due to the driver having to emergency brake whilst towing a caravan," her letter urged Ms Wood to intervene for Harry's welfare and the safety of guests, or she would "have to take matters further".Ms Wood said she no-one else had complained about Harry, who follows her to the village shops. "He's fine, he's lovely," said Jonathan Wise, of Banham Butchers."He's a cute little cat. "Sometimes when we open up he's out there waiting and will dart in hoping for a little sneaky sausage."Brian Mcallister, who runs The Barrell pub, said: "He's part of The Barrel family, and he's entertaining for everybody. He's a great character, we all love him."In a statement to the BBC, Ms Goymer said: "It was such a minor matter."I had a conversation with the owner and it was all resolved, sharing our concerns for the cat's welfare and safety as a result of customer feedback we received, and the fact that I witnessed a potential accident happen in front of reception."Ms Wood said she had had several offers of a new home for Harry."It would be sad for me to do that, but I just don't want him mistreated," she added. Follow Norfolk news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.
BBC News
21-03-2025
- BBC News
What we learned travelling 312 miles on 17 buses (and one train)
An intrepid pair of pensioners have completed a pilgrimage to the most westerly point of mainland England using only local and Kerstin Banham, from Little Brington, near Northampton, faced the challenge to raise awareness of a charity for parents of children with serious set off from Daventry on Monday and, using their pensioners' bus passes, arrived in Land's End, at the tip of Cornwall, on Thursday said one thing they had learnt was that one county has a particularly bad bus service. When their first bus was 12 minutes late, Mr and Mrs Banham were a bit worried that their carefully planned itinerary would go out of the window before they had even left they soon got back on track and ended up at a pub in Wells, Somerset, where they learned that the nicest hostelries do not necessarily guarantee a good night's sleep."The pub was quite nice, they had live music in the bar, but the beds... I didn't know people still had beds like that in hotels," Mrs Banham said."I literally had a big lump in my mattress." By the second day, which was Mr Banham's 83rd birthday, the couple were getting into their stride and wanting to tell fellow passengers about the charity they were undertaking the challenge Pals was started by Hayley Charlesworth, from Newnham, Northamptonshire, after her son was diagnosed with a serious illness, and there was no advice or support for his charity provides counselling and therapy for families as well as short breaks. Mrs Banham, 72, said: "The first bus between Wells and Taunton was a two-hour ride, and we went through these picturesque villages and it was very relaxing. "Unfortunately, the bus was very empty which meant I couldn't launch into my bit about Harry's Pals."The Banhams soon learned that there was a reason for the lack of passengers."When we got to Taunton, we were there in plenty of time," she said."This bus comes round the corner and just drives straight past us without stopping to pick people up. And the next one wasn't until 17:00." Fellow travellers told them that the Somerset bus service was not very reliable. Fortunately, a taxi driver who happened to have lived in Northampton rescued them and took them to the railway made it to their next destination, Tiverton, in Devon, but more disappointment was in Banham said: "The taxi driver hadn't warned us – the train station is eight miles away from the bus station."We got to Tiverton bus station just as our bus disappeared. We had to wait in a freezing, draughty bus station – didn't get to Oakhampton until 18:40."After a pleasant night with Mr Banham's niece in Lifton, Mrs Banham felt like "a new woman". On Wednesday, they made their way to Cornwall, where the bus service was "excellent".Mrs Banham got talking to one passenger, who handed over £20 for the charity, and then revealed that "she had a French rescue donkey that was rescued from a friend's abbatoir"."'Do you know?'" she said. 'I've called her Barbara after me!" Thursday saw the intrepid couple to Penzance and journey's end at Land's the obligatory photo next to the sign, it was time to reflect on what they learned during four days travelling 312 miles on 17 buses (and one train)."There's a lot to be said for bus travel," said Mrs Banham"It's very liberating, just carrying a small backpack."You're not having to think about where you're going because you're not driving."You can watch the scenery. I can really recommend it." Follow Northamptonshire news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.
Yahoo
20-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Opinion: Why I walk L.A.'s 'plains of id' every day
At some point, I'm not sure exactly when, I began to greet the people I encounter on my walks. There is the runner in the park. The trio of women I see together many days. The couple on their constitutional. Such interactions may be brief — a nod, a smile, a light 'good morning' — but they are not without meaning. For me, they represent the fiber of community, which expresses itself most fundamentally in the comfort of routine. Routine. Such a concept seems almost quaint, if not nostalgic, given how distant from it we find ourselves. With last month's wildfires, the zone-flooding in Washington, the specters of climate change and economic instability, it's easy — natural, even — to feel overwhelmed. And yet, if this is the world we occupy, we have to figure out a way to cope with it. We have to get out of bed each day and keep on keeping on. I think of the Red Cross disaster specialist who once described to me what he referred to as 'healthy denial.' Amid potential disruption and disaster, he suggested, the only reasonable response was to prepare and then ... continue with our lives. Not as a means of deluding ourselves but, when confronted with so much that is beyond our ability to fix or change, as a strategy to remain sane. This is why I walk most mornings — not only as exercise (although that too) but because a daily connection to Los Angeles, to my neighborhood, is a routine that enables me to cope. Read more: Opinion: Los Angeles and the literature of the apocalypse Take those people I greet when I am walking — I don't even know their names. We passed in silence for months, years even, before I began to acknowledge them. Or before we began to acknowledge one another, I should say. That's the key, the back-and-forth of it, the understanding that we share space. In some small way, I am reassured each time I see them, as if a fundamental aspect of belonging were reaffirmed. In a world that has become increasingly threatening, that small connection represents a necessary corrective. It reminds me that however isolated I might feel, I also exist as part of a community. Despite how its detractors misread it, Southern California is composed of a web of neighborhoods, of cities within the city, of unincorporated areas, a mosaic of microclimates and identities. It is, in other words, a region full of character, fiercely claimed and nuanced, not undifferentiated 'sprawl.' We may call this place Los Angeles, but as the fires in January delineated, it is not a monolith. Its component parts include Pacific Palisades, Altadena, Malibu, Mandeville Canyon, the Hollywood Hills. Also so much more. In Mid-City, where I live, that means pavement and potholes, broad boulevards (I often walk north past Olympic to Wilshire) where large buildings abut narrow side streets packed with duplexes and four-plexes. 'The plains of id,' Reyner Banham called it in "Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies," a label I apply with pride. What Banham is suggesting is that even in the most developed corners of the city, much of real life takes place in the nooks and crannies. It's all about the sense of scale. Read more: Op-Ed: Elegy for a big, beautiful L.A. cat That's what keeps me grounded as I walk the neighborhood, following the same route nearly every morning, checking that it all remains in place and these days aware of my good fortune amid so much that has been lost. This "all" includes the people I encounter, the ones I recognize. The runner, the women, the couple. Although we have never introduced ourselves to one another, their presence feels reliable: a consolation, in the larger city that surrounds us, its anonymity. Does my presence mean the same to them? I'd like to imagine that it does. I'd like to imagine that they look for me just as I look for them, that this bestows a similar comfort. Everything changes; we can count on that. Everything we know will one day disappear. Los Angeles will be living that reality for years to come after the fires. In the short term, though, we can find some constancy, however fleeting. Something on which — for the moment, anyway — we can depend. For me, this is the benefit of my routine. Of paying attention to what I pass and who I see. Rather than lulling me into autopilot, I am reminded, as I walk, to take each moment, each encounter, on its own terms, beginning with my neighbors. David L. Ulin is a contributing writer to Opinion. If it's in the news right now, the L.A. Times' Opinion section covers it. Sign up for our weekly opinion newsletter. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
20-02-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
Opinion: Why I walk L.A.'s ‘plains of id' every day
At some point, I'm not sure exactly when, I began to greet the people I encounter on my walks. There is the runner in the park. The trio of women I see together many days. The couple on their constitutional. Such interactions may be brief — a nod, a smile, a light 'good morning' — but they are not without meaning. For me, they represent the fiber of community, which expresses itself most fundamentally in the comfort of routine. Routine. Such a concept seems almost quaint, if not nostalgic, given how distant from it we find ourselves. With last month's wildfires, the zone-flooding in Washington, the specters of climate change and economic instability, it's easy — natural, even — to feel overwhelmed. And yet, if this is the world we occupy, we have to figure out a way to cope with it. We have to get out of bed each day and keep on keeping on. I think of the Red Cross disaster specialist who once described to me what he referred to as 'healthy denial.' Amid potential disruption and disaster, he suggested, the only reasonable response was to prepare and then ... continue with our lives. Not as a means of deluding ourselves but, when confronted with so much that is beyond our ability to fix or change, as a strategy to remain sane. This is why I walk most mornings — not only as exercise (although that too) but because a daily connection to Los Angeles, to my neighborhood, is a routine that enables me to cope. Take those people I greet when I am walking — I don't even know their names. We passed in silence for months, years even, before I began to acknowledge them. Or before we began to acknowledge one another, I should say. That's the key, the back-and-forth of it, the understanding that we share space. In some small way, I am reassured each time I see them, as if a fundamental aspect of belonging were reaffirmed. In a world that has become increasingly threatening, that small connection represents a necessary corrective. It reminds me that however isolated I might feel, I also exist as part of a community. Despite how its detractors misread it, Southern California is composed of a web of neighborhoods, of cities within the city, of unincorporated areas, a mosaic of microclimates and identities. It is, in other words, a region full of character, fiercely claimed and nuanced, not undifferentiated 'sprawl.' We may call this place Los Angeles, but as the fires in January delineated, it is not a monolith. Its component parts include Pacific Palisades, Altadena, Malibu, Mandeville Canyon, the Hollywood Hills. Also so much more. In Mid-City, where I live, that means pavement and potholes, broad boulevards (I often walk north past Olympic to Wilshire) where large buildings abut narrow side streets packed with duplexes and four-plexes. 'The plains of id,' Reyner Banham called it in 'Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies,' a label I apply with pride. What Banham is suggesting is that even in the most developed corners of the city, much of real life takes place in the nooks and crannies. It's all about the sense of scale. That's what keeps me grounded as I walk the neighborhood, following the same route nearly every morning, checking that it all remains in place and these days aware of my good fortune amid so much that has been lost. This 'all' includes the people I encounter, the ones I recognize. The runner, the women, the couple. Although we have never introduced ourselves to one another, their presence feels reliable: a consolation, in the larger city that surrounds us, its anonymity. Does my presence mean the same to them? I'd like to imagine that it does. I'd like to imagine that they look for me just as I look for them, that this bestows a similar comfort. Everything changes; we can count on that. Everything we know will one day disappear. Los Angeles will be living that reality for years to come after the fires. In the short term, though, we can find some constancy, however fleeting. Something on which — for the moment, anyway — we can depend. For me, this is the benefit of my routine. Of paying attention to what I pass and who I see. Rather than lulling me into autopilot, I am reminded, as I walk, to take each moment, each encounter, on its own terms, beginning with my neighbors. David L. Ulin is a contributing writer to Opinion.
