Emptying the household waste baskets, I interrupted my son’s video call. He continues to work at home most days. He had put on a smart shirt and tie, and was talking to some important-looking blokes in suits.
“We were in conference with coun-sel,” he explained later. That’s how he said it: “coun-sel,” with too much emphasis on the ‘e’ of the second syllable.
It was great to be out on the North York Moors again, although there was a time when I would not have said that. It is where my first proper walks were, with boots, cagoule and rucksack, fifty years ago. My friend Neville used to drive us up on Saturdays in his Ford Anglia and we would spend the day walking. Don’t ask me where: the names Helmsley and Chop Gate sound familiar. Neville had been walking for longer than me and knew all the routes. He persuaded me along I just followed – literally.
More often than not he would disappear off into the distance and leave me trailing behind in wretched misery, with swollen ankles, and feet blistered by badly fitting boots. It showed the world for what it is: the beauty and the pain … (read full post on Blogger)
Another book not picked up since I was a teenager at school. I was unable to finish it in those days. I went through several years of not being able to read anything much at all. I would begin earnestly enough but quickly find myself stepping mentally away and thinking good, I am now reading, really reading, which meant that I wasn’t, which is why I am having to catch up with all these books now.
“You can bowl, Hunt.” Mr. Ellis threw the ball at me, hard, his superior smirk turning into a contemptuous sneer.
He had mistaken me for Dave Hunt. It was easily done, we were both thin and feeble, but to correct him would have gained yet more of his unwanted attention. He was right though: I could bowl, except he didn’t know it yet. What he was unaware of was that, coached by the Eagle Annual, I could put quite a spin on the ball.
I never visited Staithes or Whitby as a child, nor did we go to Scarborough much, probably because Bridlington and Filey (see previous posts) were nearer. We have since been to all three quite often. We saw them again last week while staying in Whitby (… read full post on Blogger).
We are just back from a week in Whitby where we stayed in a third-floor riverside apartment watching the clockwork of the tides, Northern Rail and the North Yorkshire Moors Railway (… read full post on Blogger)
Filey is another Yorkshire seaside resort with a long family association. There are pictures of my dad there with his parents in the nineteen-thirties and then with his own family including me in the nineteen-fifties. Later I took my family in the noughties. We had some wonderful times there, and some not so wonderful ones, including a week in the most disgusting holiday cottage I’ve ever stayed in. (read full post on Blogger)
Recently, my blood pressure came out at 189/87, a reading classed as Stage 3 Hypertension, potentially a medical emergency. Well, if they do insist on measuring it within five minutes of a brisk, fifteen-minute uphill walk and five floors of stairs! I was advised to get a home blood pressure monitor, so for £20 I bought the one pictured. It turns out things are not so bad … (read full post on Blogger)
We were playing Partners and Seniors. It was based on Battleships, a pencil and paper game for two players. In place of warships we had Chartered Accountants. Instead of aircraft carriers, destroyers and minesweepers, we had partners, seniors and articled clerks from the firm where we worked. Mr. Hawkwind was one of the partners. He occupied four squares. (read full post on Blogger)