A Midsummer Memory

So, today is Midsummer. The very word sounds magical, teeming with enchantment. No wonder it is the stuff of myth and magic. Shakespeare certainly thought so and he was right. Not many miles from the Lincolnshire town where P and I lived for over twelve years before moving over here, is an outdoor theatre where, for three months every summer, come hell or high water*, two or three Shakespeare plays were performed ‘al fresco.’ Every year, a group of us would book seats, take a picnic and laze in the evening sun waiting for the performance to begin.

We had, over the years seen some wonderful performances, but none more so than when we went to see a performance of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ on 24th June 1992** the memory of which is still with me now. The evening was clear and warm, a perfect night for an outdoor performance. There was magic in the air as the play began and we, the audience were swept into it from the very first line. I was taken completely by surprise by the animatronics or special effects used not only for Bottom’s ass’s head but by those used for the fairies’ wings. The costumes of both Oberon and Titania were splendidly dynamic and alive, their wings waved in their anger and vexation and quivered in pleasure; they suddenly became more than mere mortals, having an almost dream like quality in the now dimming evening light. I can say, without a doubt that this was the most stunning performance of this play that I have every seen, and I have seen several.

* Luckily the audience are seated under a canopy (or they were then) but the actors had to perform no matter what the weather was doing. I remember one year, it absolutely poured with rain during the performance. The actresses’ dresses were darkening around the hems as the water soaked in and seeped upwards. At one point the scene was a balcony and the actor involved had to speak lovelorn lines about the beautiful night and the moon and etc and the audience, I’m ashamed to say, just dissolved into laughter, he waited for us to subside and then carried on delivering his lines and had us believe that we too could see that glorious full moon. Well played.

** I know, but I don’t apologise for the fact that I keep all my theatre programmes and usually put the tickets inside, so I know exactly what I saw and when I saw it.

Farewell to Woodies

On Saturday we drove over to the health food shop at Market Drayton to get the Shipton Mill Flour that P likes to use in his bread making. We love the journey over there as the countryside on that part of the Staffordshire/Shropshire border is just wonderful. When we first moved over to this part of the country we rented a property out that way for a couple of years before moving into the city to be closer to our work. I used to love the bus journey into Hanley through Ashley, Blackbrook, by Maer, into Baldwin’s Gate and Whitmore before getting to Newcastle and then up to the city. Today we were behind two very slow farm vehicles but this didn’t seem to matter as slower was preferable to the speed with which a lorry had hurtled past us on the Trentham road swerving to avoid us as we slowed down at the amber light and he cut across on red. Luckily the car coming across the junction stopped god knows how the driver of the lorry missed hitting one or the other of us. Bad driving, mate!



We had decided to also have a walk along the canal and have a mid morning cuppa at Woodies but when we got there it had closed. The old mill building had been stripped and emptied of all the glorious things that used to be there including the little train that ran around a track just under the ceiling. We used to enjoy watching it going round and round as we drank our coffee. What a shame. I’m guessing that there wasn’t enough trade, although it always seemed busy whenever we went last year. The walk from Betton Mill to Tyrley locks and back is a lovely one and quite easy to do at any time of the year. We did the walk about three times last year on our own and then with friends who will all be sad to hear that Woodies no longer exists.

Evening Classes

I’ve just been reading an excellent article, written by Sue Arnold, in today’s Guardian. In this article she was discussing the news that this Government (who should know better)* are cutting down on funding Adult Education which in turn will affect that beloved national institution, evening classes. This would be such a shame. I know that, over the years, I, for one, have benefited greatly from evening classes. I left school at fifteen, not because I was thick, I had passed my eleven plus and got to grammar school and was an avid reader, almost like a chain smoker, I always had one book on the go and the next one waiting to be picked up as soon as the current read was finished. The reason was that because I was quiet, shy and not the prettiest flower in the vase I was picked on and bullied so as soon as I could I removed myself from the situation and went out into the world of work.

When I got to eighteen I decided I wanted to learn so over the next ten years ( at my own expense) I studied for and passed three O levels, did LAMDA courses in speech and drama, joined a Am Dram group attached to the local art college, and passed three A levels in English, History and History of Art. I then took a couple of years out when I got married but by 1980 both P and I had enrolled for Open University, he studying sciences and me studying Arts. It took us six years of hard work to get our degrees. P went on to do teaching qualifications whilst I studied for the Museums Association diploma, and various courses relating to tourism. In the last few years I have done various courses at the local colleges for Creative Writing.

I think it would be such a shame if this type of class were to disappear completely as they are of great benefit to the many people, who, for one reason or another can’t complete their education at school or get to University at the time and age they are supposed to.

* unless my history is at fault, weren’t the Labour party or at least members** of it instigators and founders of the Open University?
**The names of Harold Wilson and Jennie Lee spring to mind.

Trentham

Tuesday evening the rather smart dark green balloon from Trentham Gardens passed slowly overhead. It took ages for it to get close enough for us to be able to read the word Trentham on its side but as it got closer to us we could hear the gas boost and see the flames shooting up from the basket into the balloon, the people were like little dots. I guess if they are going to make balloon rides part of their ‘things to do’ itinerary then we may see it more often. It was a beautiful night for floating along in a balloon though I did wonder where they would land as they were headed over towards the city.

Talking of Trentham so many lovely things have happened there over the last year or two. We go, usually once a week, to walk around the lake and watch the grebes and herons and lately the geese with their fluffy goslings. We are still waiting for the access path up to the Duke of Sutherland’s statue to open though because I long to walk up to the top and view the lake and Italian garden from there. We have to wait though, presumably for the access road to the new monkey forest to be completed, as the monkey house is due to open in July then we may not have to wait for much longer. I really like the new garden centre (not so much a garden centre as a lifestyle statement) and the retail village but I’m not sure about the monkeys (well Barbary Macaques). I dare say it will be a huge tourist attraction and bring in bus loads from all over but the tranquility will be lost. Given the monkeys and the new passenger boat and the proposed new boat house restaurant then the tranquility will definitely be lost but I suppose things can’t stay the same forever.

Ashbourne

Had a lovely wander around Ashbourne today, got there about 9.30a.m. and had a good look at the antique shops and the book shop and the super second hand book stall on the market, didn’t see anything we wanted to purchase but really enjoyed looking. Had a cup of coffee in the café bar near the bridge and then drove up to the garden centre before heading home via what we call the Roman road which actually runs from the outskirts of Derby to Caverswall, Blythe Bridge and into Stoke, we picked it up at Cubley and came through Rocester and past the JCB factory where people walk and enjoy the lakes around the factory, there are some interesting water birds and many folks stop and park up and get an ice cream from the van and just sit and watch the fountain in the middle of the lake.

Got backhome and mowed the lawns, they always look so much better after a cut. The new bird bath looks wonderful bathed in sunlight.

Mid Year Resolution

I feel I have been rather neglectful of this blog recently, finding it hard, not to find the time to write, but to actually know what to say. I have therefore made a resolution that I must write something, even if it is no more than two lines every day to get myself into the swing of things again. I don’t know why I’m particularly lacking in inspiration, June is nearly here, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and yet for some reason things still seem grey. I can’t concentrate for very long on reading anymore and my favourite TV programmes seem so shallow and tedious. I have written quite a lot today though. I have started a story about juggling with one’s priorities in life and completed two exercises from the previous two weeks writing course homework a dialogue piece about an argument or misunderstanding and one of two character descriptions. So I have sort of been productive.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

Glasses and Bird Baths

Friday was the All Write meeting at Hanley Library. I really enjoy these meetings and there is a nice lively crowd of people who attend. I like listening to them read out their work and today one of them had brought along a trial piece of dialogue and had produced four copies so that others could join in and read the parts, this certainly livened things up and was quite entertaining. I’m constantly surprised at how good people are and sometimes feel quite inadequate; their ideas for stories and poems are excellent.

On the bus home a young woman came to sit next to me, I’d seen her at the bus stop in her afghan coat and flowery head scarf, tied in a knot at the back, clutching a rather flamboyant wine glass in one hand and a huge bag in the other. I watched, fascinated as she managed to clutch the wine glass and her MP3 player in one hand whilst she struggled to break bits off a Toblerone bar with the other. She had more than one ring on every digit and more than one ring in both her ears and her nose. She saw me looking at her glass and started to explain to me how she had decorated it with suns and moons and then described the other pieces she had decorated. We had a nice conversation which whiled away the journey time on the rather overcrowded bus.

Saturday we wandered around Bakewell, popping in and out of the lovely little shops, arcades and interesting alley ways, had coffee in the café over the farmer’s market shop and walked by the river. Here we saw swans, ducks and geese with their young and a pair of coots who had decided to nest on a little ‘island’ close to the bridge and the seats where everyone gathers to eat their fish and chips or their ice creams (depending on the weather – yesterday there was a mixture of both!) We then ventured to the Chatsworth Garden Centre for lunch and here we picked up a great bird bath for only £16.99. We’d wanted one for ages to replace the one that was frost shattered last year and now we have it. Only, of course, today we have had to spruce up the garden again so that the bird bath looks good in its new home.

Where, What and Why?

During this week, in the potteries town* which is the nearest to where I live there have been two major incidents, a murder and a fire on one of the main shopping streets. This fire gutted an already empty and semi-derelict building and made it unsafe so major parts of the town had to be sealed off whilst building experts secured it. The murder we know little about yet but a young mother of two was found in an alleyway almost opposite the Gladstone Museum at two in the afternoon, in the local paper there was a picture of her on CCTV just over an hour before she was found dead. A man was arrested almost immediately and charged a day or so after, and thank goodness for that but it does make you feel very uneasy. All you can say is why?

Yesterday, to escape the confines of the city we ventured out to our favourite garden.** It is set in beautiful countryside on the Staffordshire/Cheshire/Shropshire border. Constructed in an old quarry, now full of the most beautiful rhododendrons and azaleas in every colour imaginable, it is so pleasing on the eye. Each year when we visit we find something new has been added, another corner has reached maturity and more and more people have been delighted by their visit, including us.

Well, our tadpoles have developed legs. About a month ago we took some tadpoles from the garden pond and put then in a bowl in doors to save them from becoming newt food. They have prospered so well and are now fat and healthy and ready to be returned to the garden. Not to the main pond but to a small sunken container that has been set up a little away from it. Last night the container was filled with pond water and weed ready to receive them. Today they will go to their new home and hopefully soon we will have some little frogs.

* The city of Stoke on Trent is made up of six towns, not five*** being from north to south Tunstall, Burslem, Hanley, Stoke, Fenton and Longton.
** It is The Dorothy Clive Garden
*** Local author Arnold Bennett, left out Fenton when he wrote Anna of the Five Towns.

Le Marché

On Friday I was wandering, in the sunshine, through the market. The stalls were bright, cheerful and welcoming with flags and balloons dancing in the breeze. The stall holders were calling to each other and to the passers by. I hovered around one or two stalls; the smell of the olives, so many different varieties, drew me in and then I was hooked. I dallied around the cheese counter, eyed up the crusty fresh bread, the brioche and the croissants and then the intricately plaited bunches of garlic which nestled at the side of the rich red strawberries and luscious looking asparagus. I moved on to the Breton biscuits; they had those tasty butter ones and the gorgeous prune tart. Mmm. The crepe stand was doing excellent business, a crepe and a coffee was just the thing for lunch. I sat at the table watching people drifting from stall to stall. The sun was warm the food was tasty and the most wonderful thing was the smell of the cut lavender on the stall opposite – it was warm, heady and sensual. I drifted away into a gentle reverie “Bonjour Madam” said the man serving the crepes, “c’est tout?” enquired the woman on the biscuit stall as she weighed out biscuits for her customers.

Then, all of a sudden I was jolted out of my dream. “Ey-up duck, where’s tha bin?”
“Up Marks, shug, ar’t catchin’t bus home?”.

Oh no, drat, I wasn’t in Brittany at all, but on Piccadilly, Hanley. Still, it was nice while it lasted.

Past Times

So we have another election looming. The feeling of security goes out of the window and in comes that uneasy feeling in the pit of the stomach that things may get worse.* I mutter to myself every day, “Oh, please don’t let MH get to be PM.” I cringe every time I see him on television because he brings back memories of those awful, fearful Thatcher years and will be forever associated with her in my memory. I could just about tolerate a Conservative victory, if I really had to, but, please God, not with him at the helm. I know I will support Labour, I always do, even though I was very upset with TB when he took us into the war against the wishes of the UN and the rest of Europe and a lot of us Brits too. At that time I was really ashamed of and aghast at what we had done, but I can’t, in all honesty vote for any other party. I will vote for the party and all it has stood for in the past; not for its present leader because he probably won't be PM for the whole five years if they get in. It would be against my very being to step away from my beliefs, no matter how archaic others may think they are, it would seem like letting down my ancestors who for generations until the last two, have worked down the mines. My great grandfather was killed in an awful pit cage accident, my grandfather died from pneumoconiosis or “miners lung”. Generations before them struggled for survival in poor conditions and for low wages. My 5 x great grandfather was a prospector who traveled, in the 1780s, from the Welsh Borders and the Forest of Dean into Derbyshire with a gang of men and they would open up coal seams and try to get local business men interested. No doubt they would all have been issued with settlement orders naming the parish of their birth. What a precarious life. On the other side my great - great grandfather was a tailor who came down into England from Fife, Scotland, again I assume looking for work and again, I would imagine settlement orders were an issue.

* I don’t want to go back to those days of worry, when either one or the other of us was unemployed because of redundancy,** when we had to move from the area we had grown up in, getting further away from our families. Luckily, unlike my ancestors, we didn’t need settlement orders in case we became a burden on the parish we moved to.
** by sheer luck we were never unemployed at the same time so we always worked on the principle of one wage for two when taking up rental agreements or seeking mortgages – just in case it should ever happen again.

Library Rules

Yesterday I walked the two miles to our local library in order to renew my library ticket.* I strolled into the newly refurbished library unaware of the confusion that lay ahead. Actually my ticket ran out last year but because I’d been doing an OU writing course and then had succumbed to the Waterstones’ 3 for 2 offer on books a couple of times last year and then been tempted by one or two books in Tesco for £3.73 each and also bought a couple of magazines with free books, I hadn’t needed to go to the library.** So, I went up to the counter and asked very nicely if I could renew my ticket.

Well, the answer was no, not unless I had proof of my address on me. As a non-driver I don’t have a driver’s license so I was a bit stuck. I only had bank cards on me and they don’t have an address on. I said I could come back with my passport, national insurance card or medical card to prove I was who I said I was, but no, it has to be a letter with my address on received in the post that day or quite recently. ‘Don’t you get junk mail?’ one of the librarians asked ‘I get loads.’ Well yes, as it happens I do, but I couldn’t see how a piece of junk mail would be as reliable in identifying me as a passport or medical card. Anyhow, the only letter I’d had that day was one telling me I had won some fantastic gift if only I would ring the attached 0900 number and it had been shredded. Therefore, until I can prove that I am really and truly me I can’t have a new library ticket. I’m just waiting to receive a letter with my name and address on so I can trip down to the library again holding it in my sticky mitt.*** You know, I suppose they have their job to do, I might be trying to steal someone’s identity but if I was, borrowing books from the library would be the least of my concerns.


* I know, what an exciting life I lead.
** You are right, shame on me, I should support my local bookshop and not these huge high street stores, but I’ve applied for a job twice at the local bookshop and never even had an interview so I feel disinclined to put my money in their coffers.
*** I did have two letters today but not “official” ones – they were both hand written ones from friends so they will not do.

Highlight of today – the lovely letters mentioned above.

Today’s gripe – it has taken me hours to clean the spare bedroom and rid it of all the cat fluff and crud. Also I bet one of the cats was responsible for the headless baby bird I found on the lawn this morning. Why do I love cats so much when they do this?

Red Kite Delight

It’s hard to gather my thoughts together enough to recount the things I’ve seen and done over the last few days. I was so looking forward to my trip into Wales to meet up with friends and I wasn’t disappointed. I set out on Tuesday morning from Stoke Station on a coach up to Crewe, yes I know, I just assume that the trains to Crewe weren’t running that day. We took a circuitous route via Kidsgrove and Alsager stations, and I began to worry I wouldn’t get there on time to catch my train down to Shrewsbury. I needn’t have worried as, in the end, I had plenty of time to spare. At Shrewsbury I met Pauline from her train and we popped into town to have lunch at the art gallery just up from the station. We were back at the station in time to catch the Swansea train.

This train travels through the most delightful countryside, meandering past the Long Mynd at Church Stretton over the viaduct at Knucklas and into Wales. Our friend Susanna was waiting at the station in the little village where she lives and where we were staying at the local bed & breakfast which is also a museum, tea rooms, art gallery and craft workshops.* We had supper at Susanna’s little cottage overlooking her splendid garden whilst watching the birds on her feeders, including Goldfinch, chaffinch, nuthatch, great tits and blue tits. What a super display. We strolled back through the village to the guest house still amused by the fact that when we arrived my room still seemed to be occupied by someone else. It turned out that the brother of the owner had been staying and gone back to London and left his things. I had already moved to another room which on such a cold night was altogether cosier, then I found that I couldn’t get the hot tap to work on my bath but Pauline managed to sort it. All this caused much amusement.**

Next day, after breakfast*** we set out with Susanna to Rhayader to have lunch with her sister and brother-in-law and then to drive to the Elan Valley. The Valley is quite spectacular and on the drive we saw several red kites wheeling around in the sky, apparently there is a farm nearby where people can go and watch them being fed. We walked awhile at the side of one of the reservoirs and then went down to the visitor centre near the water cascade where we found out how the land was developed and the feat of engineering that went into the supplying of water to Birmingham and the Midlands.

I brought home such wonderful memories of the Elan Valley that I have to go back again soon with Paul so he can see the Red Kites.

* I may write more on this place later.
** Also amusement the next morning when Pauline set off the smoke alarm with her hair dryer.
*** the marmalade should have been in the museum.

Where do you Start?

Well, the writing class on Friday went well. We all had to read out the pieces we’d written for homework, based on the theme of childhood memories last week. This week’s homework is to write about a piece of music and why and how it appeals to you. Now this sounds easy, but where do you start? There are so many different pieces of music that appeal to me and for different reasons. Should it be the first piece of music you ever heard? If so then I would have to chose ‘The Cuckoo Waltz’ because I remember my father used to put the record (a 78 rpm) on the turntable and play it and waltz me around standing on his feet. I must have been about four years old. Or what about ‘Andy Pandy is coming to play tra, la la, la, la la’ - apparently I used to cry when Teddy disappeared into the toy basket at the end. I remember having to sing ‘Rose of England’ at a school concert, then there was the school hymn I think it was “Ye Holy Angels Bright” and my favourite hymns “Glorious things of thee are spoken” and “I give to you my Country” – not sure if they are the titles or the first lines. Next memories, well I fell in love with the golden face and voice of Scott Walker - I only have to hear the first few notes of “The sun ain’t gonna shine anymore” and the back of my neck prickles. Robert Knight’s “Everlasting Love” and the Supremes “Reflections” remind me of dances at the youth club. Or what about Waterloo Sunset written by one of the best ever English song writers, Ray Davies. I also like to play Jimi Hendrix very loudly at times to cheer myself up, I remember seeing him on stage years and years ago and I can still see the bandana and the purple crushed velvet suit and the larger than life image of something special. But where do you stop with music that means something to you? There are many classical pieces including Pachelbel’s Canon in D, Vaughan Williams’s “Fantasia on a Theme from Thomas Tallis”, Barber’s “Adagio” and the theme music from the ‘Mission’ in fact almost anything by Ennio Morricone, or the whole of the Carmina Burana, or Michael Nyman’s music from "The Draughtsman’s Contract" So I’m going to have to choose one of these to write about. Maybe I’ll write about Waterloo Sunset or the Vaughan Williams or perhaps I should try Hendrix?

Highlight of the day – getting lots of gardening done this afternoon and getting ready for my three day trip into Wales on Tuesday.

Today’s gripe - rain stopped the gardening before we had finished – the garden will never dry.

Barefoot in Hanley

I was sitting in the conservatory this morning, drinking coffee, looking out at the garden with its brand new spring colours and I got to thinking what other sights, tastes and smells make you feel safe and happy. I always enjoy my first sip of newly made coffee after the aroma of making it has filled the house and I love the taste of fresh apricots*, gooseberries and mangoes. Smells would have to be lavender, torn basil leaves and freshly squeezed lemon or lime. One of my favourite sensations is walking barefoot in the sand with the sound and smell of the surf drifting into my consciousness** also the smell of the garden early in the morning when the sun has been up just a little while and the grass is still damp from the dew. I also love it when, very rarely nowadays, I wake up warm and comfortable after a good night’s sleep, that moment between waking and being fully conscious is wonderful. The feel of a warm, furry, purring cat on your lap when you are feeling down. Just a few of my favourite things.

* especially when bought early from a market stall in France and taken back to our lodgings to eat with warm fresh baguette, greengage preserve and – you’ve guessed - freshly made coffee.
** quite hard to do in Stoke, I admit, but usually managed two or three times a year, sometimes at Cherrueix or St-Jean-Le-Thomas, sometimes on the Welsh coast near Criccieth, last year on the Yorkshire coast, in the rain, but I still loved every minute. How wonderful is Staithes in the pouring rain? I thought it was breathtakingly beautiful and atmospheric.

Highlight of the day – there isn’t going to be a bus strike after all, so I don’t have to walk the two plus miles up to Hanley in order to get to my writing course. I don’t mind the walking, I’ve done it before it’s just the noise of the traffic on the main roads I have to walk along – could I suspend all belief and pretend I’m walking barefoot on the beach at Cherrueix ? Nope!!

Today’s gripe – happened yesterday actually, in Tesco. Why do people have to ‘push’ from behind in the queue? They come right up behind you with their trolly in the back of your legs, come right down and stand almost behind you while you are paying – very rude! Sometimes they have a partner in crime who is getting their bags ready to fill whilst you are still filling yours. They watch your every move, eagle eyed, ready to pounce, even before you have moved away from the checkout. Don’t do it! Thanks.

Manifold

We set out early yesterday morning and journeyed out towards Ipstones and Onecoat and then down to the stunning Manifold Valley. The morning was bright and clear but very cold. Occasionally the liquid sun would break through the clouds to fool us into thinking it was warmer but believe me it wasn't. We parked close to Wetton Mill and donned warm coats and walking boots. There were very few people around at 9.30a.m. which meant we had the track way more or less to ourselves. Our intention was to walk up to Thor's Cave. We'd passed by it once before and this time intended to go up and have a look. Perched high above the valley on its rocky outcrop it looks very impressive, its entrance, like a gaping mouth, being visible from miles around.

Apparently local excavations have revealed evidence of Iron Age and Romano-British settlement in the area around the cave. Early last century the cave became quite a tourist attraction when the Leek and Manifold Light Railway was built and visitors would leave the train at the local station and walk up to the cave. This railway was in use from about 1902 to 1934 and the walk along the valley from Hulme End to Wetton mill uses the line of the old railway track so it is suitable for cycling too. The walkway up to the top was steep but not too taxing and we reached the cave quite quickly. What splendid views there were across the valley, although the wind felt as if it would blow us down to the ground below. There are other smaller caves visible across the valley, and from Thor's cave you can look across to another cave which is up behind the Mill.



As we descended from the cave it began to rain lightly and the sun disappeared, we passed one or two walkers on the way back to Wetton Mill where we stopped in the café for coffee and toast. What a delightful spot for walkers to rest their weary bones for a while. We watched the ducks on the river and the farm cats being fed before we left.

Highlight of the day - managed to buy the Guardian at the local shop - they don't usually stock more than one and you have to get up at the crack of dawn to get it.

Today's Gripe - don't really have one, except when it rains really heavily, we have a leak in the conservatory roof.

Dreaming of Dr Johnson

When is a dream not a dream but a nightmare? I suppose when it disturbs you, makes you cry out, wake up in a sweat or stays in your memory for a few days? Yet, we all have surreal dreams that disturb us and we would not call them nightmares. I’m thinking of the anxiety dreams that we have. Like the ones I sometimes have about running down endless corridors in large, unfamiliar houses. The ones where you are walking up the stairs and the ceiling is coming down to meet you. There are also the ones where you are out in the street in your underwear, the one where you are trying to run but your legs won’t move or you are trying to shout or scream for help but no noise comes out of your mouth and the one I have quite often of my teeth falling out of my mouth and spilling across the floor like a broken string of pearls. I always seem to loose far more teeth than can possibly be in my head though. These are all unsettling dreams but I wouldn’t call them nightmares.

In yesterday’s Guardian there was an article about Samuel Johnson’s famous dictionary. It was, apparently, published 250 years ago this month.* His definition of a nightmare was ‘a morbid oppression in the night, resembling the pressure of weight upon the breast.’ This morning I woke up with a ‘pressure of weight upon the breast’, a paw patting my cheek and a purring in my face, not to mention cat breath - perhaps best not to, good old Max, he knows when it is time to get up.

*funnily enough I’ve just finished reading “According to Queeney” by Beryl Bainbridge. A wonderfully atmospheric account of what Dr Johnson’s last years may have been like. How can an author “get inside” a time in history with so much atmospheric accuracy as to make you feel it is one hundred percent real. A truly wonderful piece a writing.

Highlight of the day – if it’s Sunday it must be The Archers – off to listen now.
Today’s Gripe – being woken up by cat-breath – but I love him really.

Croissants, Hawkshead & Hotspur

We travelled through the mist and rain over the Staffordshire border into Shropshire. Before we moved into the city we used to live out near Market Drayton and the countryside around there is really beautiful. I think it was the 40 minutes travelling each way every day to get to work that made us move closer to our work places but I really miss the area.

Today we were off to Shrewsbury, a fascinating, historic town with lovely inviting shops to wander around. I usually end up on the railway station here when I meet up with a friend I used to work with in Lincolnshire and we catch the Shrewsbury to Swansea train on our way to visit another former work colleague and friend. We only travel to near Llandrindod Wells but the train ride is spectacular. We are going again in April and I’m really looking forward to it.

Today we had a mission to buy my husband some new shoes and trousers. They could, of course, be bought here, up in the city centre, but it is so much nicer to wander around someone else’s town. Anyway, I love the historic atmosphere of Shrewsbury, something that Hanley is sadly lacking. We always drive to the park and ride and then bus into the centre. I’m always amazed that the Stoke-on-Trent park and ride car park is almost in the city centre and not on the outskirts. How much more convenient that would be, especially for visitors to the city and if they were to pass the railway station, which isn’t actually in the city centre, then all the better.

Well, as usual, we have cappuccino and croissant at our favourite café and then wander around in the rain, dodging the umbrellas and gradually acquire the things we came for; and a little more, of course.

On the way back we see a sign for the site of the Battle of Shrewsbury and decide that today is the day we will go and look what it is all about. Yes, I know, in the pouring rain. Well, it’s a mound with seats and a couple of interpretation boards. Being a Yorkist and Ricardian I’m used to the rather lavish battle site at Bosworth, and this looked just as interesting. The Battle of Shrewsbury was one of the bloodiest battles of the 15th century and saw the demise of the noble Hotspur something I always remember from Henry IV part one or is it part two?* Anyway, we have decided to go back in better weather and do the walk to the church and back; so more of this later.

Highlight of the day – getting three t-shirt tops for the price of two at Hawkshead.

Today’s gripe – I couldn’t find the book of poetry I wanted at Waterstones.

*It is actually Part One, V.4

Hotspur- “O Harry, thou hast robbed me of my youth……………No, Percy, thou art dust, and food for……..”

Prince Hal - “For worms, brave Percy, Fare thee well, great heart!”

To Post or not to Post

Recently I’ve become rather concerned about what is going to happen to the postal service if the Royal Mail loses its postal monopoly. How are the other companies offering delivery services going to work? The Royal Mail has dedicated postmen who know the area and potentially deliver to every house in the land. What will happen if say two houses on one street of a hundred houses are sent mail by another delivery agency. Will it be economically viable for that company to send out a post man for just two houses? Magnify this across the whole country and in particular the outlying rural areas and we may have a situation where deliveries only take place two or three times a week. Will this mean that we may eventually have to pay for a delivery to take place from a company that is not Royal Mail? At the moment the cost of delivery is paid by the sender when they buy a stamp. If sending mail to a remote Scottish Island is going to cost twice as much as it does now the sender will stay with Royal Mail, so what is the point anyway? I know it can work with parcels, there are plenty of delivery firms, catalogue couriers etc. but how will it affect our daily postal deliveries? The powers that be say that Royal Mail will still be required to provide a daily collection and delivery service in the new market but how long will they be able to sustain that under the threat of competition? Perhaps I am worrying unduly but having seen the fiasco on the rail service since that was denationalized and going through the bizarre notion of getting gas from electricity or water companies and telephone services from the supermarket my aged brain has gone into panic scenario overdrive.

Good Friday Walk

Just over half an hour’s drive from us is the village of Ilam, it’s very close to Dovedale and you can easily walk to there from the village but Ilam is so much quieter, especially fairly early on in the morning. We wondered along the river side, the banks lush with wild garlic, dog’s mercury, sorrel and some early bluebells just showing through, then crossed back over the fields towards the Youth Hostel and National Trust shop. Fortified by coffee and scones at the Manifold tea rooms we strolled by the pretty church and down to the village to have a look at the memorial on the cross roads by the bridge. We'd passed it by so often and thought it was some sort of village war memorial but a recent article in the Local History Magazine revealed that it is in fact an Eleanor Cross type memorial, placed there by Jesse Watts-Russell, for his wife Mary Watts-Russell, who died in 1840. The architect, John Macduff Derick, in the full flow of Gothic revival, based it on the Eleanor Cross at Waltham. There is, in fact, a charitable trust set up in order to raise funds for its restoration. Later, driving towards Ashbourne we passed through the parklands covered in grazing sheep and lambs, the cars had come to a halt because there were sheep in the road, as we stood waiting to move on we saw an ewe with two new born lambs, they were still wet and bedraggled and they struggled to walk as she encouraged them away from the road’s edge, just as we moved on they began to suckle. Up on the hill there was a Good Friday service taking place around a wooden cross. So, Easter and Spring, a time of new life, renewal, abundance in the countryside and also a time for quiet reflection.

Highlight of the day - has to be the sight of the new born lambs, although I worry for their safety on that busy road.
Today’s gripe – I’ve gone caught a cold just in time for the holidays, oh well!

The Morecambe Tulip

As promised an explanation of my comment yesterday. It must be about four years ago now when we took a short autumn break in the Lancaster area. We just set off without booking anything and spent a day in Lancaster but thought we would like to stay on the coast. The Tourist Information Centre got us a good deal at a nice hotel on the sea front at Morecambe, the opposite end of town to the famous 1930s hotel and the Eric Morecambe statue. We had walked and walked taking in the sea air and as it had started to rain we decided to see what was on at the cinema and we were just in time to see Bridget Jones (the first film). When we came out we went back to the car park; by this time it was dark but the car park was well lit. That when I saw it – just one flower bulb on the ground in perfect condition right at the side of our car. I picked it up and put it in my pocket where it stayed until we got home. It was the right time of year to plant it so we put it in a pot and put it behind the shed. The next spring we brought it out and waited to see what it would be. As it emerged from the soil we could see from the shape of the leaves that it was a tulip. We then had to wait and see what colour it would be, minor bets were placed, but neither of us guessed the correct colour which turned out to be pink. Since then it has appeared every year in the same pot but this year it has become three separate stems so we will have three flowers, not just the one. Sentimental, I know, but if we ever move away from this house, I will take the Morecambe Tulip(s) with me.

Highlight of the Day - whilst walking round the lake at Trentham Gardens this afternoon, and glorious weather it was too, we saw a family walking their pet ferret, it was in a harness with a long lead and was thoroughly enjoying itself.

Today’s gripe – just the general thoughtlessness at the petrol station – why does this always bring out the worst in people? The man in front of us sent his passenger to pay whilst he was filling up. Because the queue was long it took her ages and he moved the car three times, getting in people’s way, and then shouted at her because she was so long!