Chim-Chiminee

The last Bank Holiday today and it's all passed so quickly. Hope you had a good weekend and for those of you suffering because of the unseasonably cold, snowy winter weather, keep warm and cosy, there's more to come apparently.

For most of us in modern houses, open coal fires are a thing of the past, gas (in my case) is so convenient and clean. I can remember at my childhood home having an outhouse with two doors, with an outside loo on one side and the coal bunker on the other side had to be divided into two to cater for the different types of fuel. This was because the posh front room was coal fuelled and the back room fire in the Victorian three storey house we had would only run on coke fuel and would take ages to get going with a gas poker. Eventually, that fire was replaced with a gas fire.

Black filthy sacks of coal were delivered by a soot faced man on the back of flat back lorry which pulled down the back tenfoot.

Sacks of logs were bought from wherever we could get them from at about ten shillings or 15 shillings, (50 to 75 pence) a bag, in today's money, about half a Euro. The dog grate was cleared out in the morning and the ash scattered over the tenfoot which was a mud track, not metalled. A mixture of newspaper and kindling sticks were laid out and pieces of coal strategically placed. The paper was ignited with a match and you hoped that it would catch. Occasionally it needed a hand. A huge piece of newspaper (a broadsheet in those days) was placed over the fireplace and the draught it created was phenomenal - many is the sheet of paper that ended up disappearing up the chimney!

The fires were always great to watch and picture in the fire was a favourite pastime. Logs crackling and coal spitting meant the carpet in front of the fire had a few burn marks in it despite having a spark guard. The trouble is that they did create dust, mainly from the cleaning out in the morning.

Mr Jones was the chimney sweeper; he was also the council street lighting man. He would lay out his dust sheets all over the room, get his rods out and the one with the big brush at the end and set out on the very physical job of bringing all the soot down. It was always hard work for him, pushing a brush up three storeys and it was my job to go outside and tell him when I saw the brush poking out of the top of the chimney. We even had a cat once who sat on the ledge at the back of the fireplace up the chimney, when it wasn't lit of course, presumably because it was nice and warm.

The daytime weather isn't too bad today, clear, chilly but thawing slightly, but the road still has ice on it. Off to the tip this afternoon so I can make room in the garage to get access to the treadmill which is under several black bags of something I have to take to the council depot to recycle. I noticed that Sainsburys car park was absolutely chocker-block this morning, I don't think I'll do any shopping until tomorrow when it's hopefully quieter.

Well that's my rabbiting done for today. Here's a list of unusual words and their meanings from the past for people who like to rabbit on. Thanks to 'The Wonder of Whiffling' by Adam Jacot de Boinod.

Macrology (1586) much talk with little to say;
Clatterfart (1552) a babbler, a chatterer;
Chelp (Northern and Midlands 19th century) to chatter or speak out of turn;
Blatteroon (1645) a person who will not stop talking;
Clitherer (Galway) a woman with too much to say.

Chat soon

Ta-ra

Fairy Nuff

A very merry Christmas to all ye who enter here.

So far (her indoors is at work) I've hoovered and tidied through, set up the table for tonight's Christmas dinner, done the vegetables, been next door to take the twins birthday cards and had a coffee, turkey is in the oven, pigs in blankets made, it's just about lunch time and the kids are not even out of bed! Just me, chirping budgies and the drooling dog (the fish make very little noise - they are no trouble at all.)

Ho hum.

Traditions are an important facet of Christmas, and there's a tradition of having a Fairy on top of a Christmas tree you may not have known the background to.

Santa Claus, many years ago had a meeting with the Chief Fairy and decided that having a Christmas tree would be a fine tradition. Santa gave the Chief Fairy millions of trees and told him to distribute them to bring light and cheer at this dark time of year and to remind people of the Christian celebration.

The Chief Fairy came back and told Father Christmas that there were still loads of trees left. "Take them to the hospitals," he instructed with a smile.

The next day, the winged wonder came back and told Santa that there were still many many trees left. "For goodness sake, take them to all the orphanages," he said, slightly irritated.

The following day the same thing happened - lots of trees left and Santa scratched his head pondering where to take them. "The old folks homes!" an annoyed Father Christmas said having to do all the thinking himself.

The Fairy came back and said to a now, angry Father Christmas, "We've still got loads left, what on earth do you expect me to do with them?"

And Father Christmas told the Chief Fairy what to do with them and that's why today, you always see a Fairy on top of a Christmas Tree.

Have a good one.

Chat soon

Ta-ra

Tale of the Unexpected 5

Yesterday, dressed like Nanook of the North in good quality winter walking gear, and feeling as warm as toast, I was looking to have a rest because the snow hadn't been cleared from the country road I had joined just off the main route. I was heading toward a 'tea shoppe' that I had seen signposted earlier and I was ready for a hot drink.

Perhaps it was a mistake because the road had not been driven on or trodden on, except for rabbits since the snows came and I stupidly realised too late that the cafe probably wasn't open. Nevertheless, as there was an access bridge over the railway line marked on the map in the direction I needed to go, I thought I would have a sit down at the railway station where I imagined the cafe to be and have a rest there.

The station was quaint to say the least if not a little run down, with the palisade fencing in need of a good lick of paint. The signs were probably replicas because they were enamelled a reddy brown colour with the station name in white letters, somewhat similar to the old British Rail signs. Amazingly, there were still red battered fire buckets full of sand hung on the wall - not taken by vandals which is a miracle. Gas lamps flickered waiting their turn to be switched into full use when darkness arrives. Someone had clearly taken a lot of trouble to preserve this old place - no doubt it attracted a few tourists when the weather was in a better frame of mind.

Sadly, no footprints spoiled the virgin show blanketed on the platform so I thought there was none running the cafe, however, there was a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney above the waiting room and booking office building which had dark sooty windows. I trudged over and pushed the door opened which creaked alarmingly breaking the silence of the day. In fact I had only just realised, I hadn't even heard any birds or other country sounds for the last many minutes. The creak reverberated round the old building which had the smell associated with coal fires about it.

For the first time that afternoon, even though I had been walking for about two and a half hours in freezing snow, my nose felt very cold and numb and I couldn't feel my top lip.

There was nothing in the waiting room. The open fire was dead, the floor dusty and the posters on the notice board were yellow and some of them were missing a pin in one corner and the notices bent over as if in protest making them difficult to read. My breath shot out clouds of steam in this densely cold room.

"Where do you want to go?"

My God! I spun round, my heart thumping away to see the small round bespectacled face of an old man peering at me through a hatch in the wall. "Hell fire," I remember spluttering, "I was miles away, I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"Where do you want to go?" he repeated.

"Erm, well nowhere really, I came for a rest and a hot cuppa, but I think the cafe is probably closed."

"This is for passengers only," he growled, "You need a platform ticket if you ain't catching the train. Two pence, over there."

He nodded toward an old red machine on the wall opposite the window. "Right, okay, well is there any chance of a drop of hot water so I can make myself a cuppa?" He clicked his tongue and the hatch slammed shut, the echo of the sound of wood on wood again echoing around this dismal place. I'm sure the cold was getting more intense.

The door by the side of the hatch into the booking office slowly opened, and presuming this was an invitation to enter I walked to the door and peered cautiously through. I was met by the smell of polished linoleum and indeed the floor was shining and a small fire crackled in the grate. Old wooden painted desks were around the place, some with tickets neatly arranged on them, some with boxes of rubber bands and stamping machines for parcels. Oil lanterns were hung on the wall ready for lighting the signals for the darkness and shiny wooden chairs were placed neatly in front of the desks. A signalling machine sat silently on the huge desk with two brass bells ready to announce an approaching train. But there was no sign of the old man.

I warmed my hands by the meagre fire waiting for the man to reappear. A porters black peaked cap hung on a hook behind the door and a pair of flags, one green and one red which I remember as a kid, the porters used to signal to the train drivers when they should set off. A brass whistle on a lanyard lay beside the flags, lay silent and polished.

I picked up one of the old tiny grey cardboard train tickets when once more, the silence was shattered by the signalling machine ringing, once, twice short sharp rings, then after a pause, a third. My nerves were certainly on edge and jangled, but no hand responded to the unseen signalman sending his message of an impending train. I called but no one responded. The toilets were empty, the platform devoid of life and the only prints in the snow were mine. The waiting room was empty still and no sign of the porter could be found.

I switched the lights off, put a spark guard in front of the fire and closed the office door behind me. The waiting room was shadowy now as the light began to fade - all was still. I crossed the footbridge and began to walk down the lane on the other side when I passed a woman walking a fussy old black Labrador dog. She greeted me warmly and after fussing the dog whose name was Rex I asked where the nearest cafe was because the railway cafe was closed.

"Yes it certainly is closed," she laughed out loud. I remarked that the weather had obviously prevented anyone coming in to open it up.

"No I don't think so. Since Lord Beeching closed it in 1968, it's laid empty and forgotten really. No one uses it any more and there hasn't been a train through it since the early seventies. Shame really."

I looked at her for several moments. "I've just been in there and there's a fire in the main office and there was a porter or someone there who asked me if I wanted to go somewhere." I described the old man in detail. Her expression no longer showed amusement.

"Mr Fulford was the last porter here. On the day the station closed, December 1968, he threw himself in front of the 6.15 to York. He couldn't bear the thought of not seeing another train or looking after another passenger no doubt. Man and boy, 46 years at this one station. He had no-one else, just him and his beloved station. I must go, good afternoon."

As she trudged off, I could see in the slowly thickening mist the chimney at the station no longer had smoke issuing out of it. I turned to go when I distinctly heard the deep resonant whistle of a steam train in the distance. I realised I still had the ticket in my hand I'd picked up from the desk. I examined it closely.

The ticket was a single fare. The date stamp was 24 December 1968. The cost was four shillings and sixpence and the destination... was Fulford.

Chat soon

Ta-ra
Story intellectual property of Rarelesserspotted.
Picture from here.

When's Santa Coming Mummy?

It's all getting a bit exciting, colleagues at work are feeling dizzy with undisguised anticipation and muted but obvious excitement of the magic of the weekend to come. The snow is still hanging around and it might get worse with rain and minus 4 degrees forecast for tonight - interesting combination!

I've picked up the turkey crown from my mother's today with some streaky bacon which will sit over the top of it while it's cooking away (don't you love the smell of Christmas Day cooking wafting through the house?) Eighteen home made mince pies are nicely stashed away because if they weren't, they'd be eaten NOW. All the veg is in and there's nothing to do but relax and wait.

There were some great quotes today listed on the BBC Sport on-line from our famous sports personalities from years past - superb athletes, managers and great people, but often not the brightest tools in the box.

The brilliant and late Sir Bobby Robson once said when asked what his dream job would have been outside football, "I'd give my right arm to be a pianist." Good man.

When Geoffrey Boycott was taken on to coach young Pakistani batsmen, legend Ian Botham dryly commented that, "This can only help England's cause."

Football pundit Gary Linneker asked Scot Gordon Strachan this searching philosophical question, "So Gordon, if you were English, what formation would you play?" Strachan replied, "If I was English I'd top myself." Bet you didn't see that one coming Gary.

Keep calm, try not to get too excited.

Chat soon

Ta-ra.

Brass Monkey Weather & Today's List

Sun rise 20 December 2009 by RLS

In keeping with this bright crisp day (at 10.30 whilst writing this) it's minus 5 degrees and last nights snow is crisp and hardened by a cracking frost. There isn't a cloud in the sky and the atmosphere is great. I got up early, before dawn, had breakfast, took some pictures, cleared the car, filled one of my fish ponds which was very low on water, made sure the other one had a hole in it for the fish to breathe, crashed my pc, restored it and made two cups of tea - and they say men can't multi task (well to be honest of course, I only did one job at a time - but it sounded as if I was busy.)

Well its list time, it's ages since I've done one so here it is on one of my favourite themes, men and women. It's absolutely non PC but I really don't care because I'm taking the mickey out of poor, emotionally devoid, misunderstood, vulnerable weaker sex - men!

I take no credit for this list, it's from an e-mail circulation and it's been edited slightly to save blushes but here goes.

Men Are Just Happier People Because

Your last name stays put;
The garage is all yours;
Wedding plans take care of themselves;
You can never be pregnant;
Car mechanics tell you the truth;
The world is your urinal;
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt;
Same work, more pay Wrinkles and greying hair add character (certainly true in my case);
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them;
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet;
One mood all the time;
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat;
You know stuff about tanks and engines;
A five-day holiday requires only one suitcase;
You can open all your own jars;
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness;
Your underwear is £9.50 for a three-pack and lasts ten years;
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough;
You never have strap problems in public;
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes;
Everything on your face stays its original colour;
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades;
You only have to shave your face and neck;
You can play with toys all your life;
One wallet and one pair of shoes - one colour for all seasons;
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look;
You can 'do' your nails with a pen knife;
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a moustache;
You can do Christmas shopping for 24 relatives on 24th December in 24 minutes.

No wonder men are happier.

Snow 10.30 pm 19 December 2009 by RLS

Chat soon

Ta-ra

Weather for Keeping Wrapped-up

Welcome to a new 'follower' - Wheelie. His blog, http://applestrokes.blogspot.com/, is entitled 'Stroke Survivor' and it's good to read with appropriate dry humour befitting someone from God's Own Country - Yorkshire, albeit the south, but I don't hold that against him! You are very welcome sir!

The youngest is home for the festive break from Liverpool University - welcome home son and my wife says a particular welcome to his mountain of washing.

Diane Parkin in her blog talks about the snow and has a great method of detecting the seriousness/heaviness/snowiness of the fall they have had - she says she can see the grass [poking through] - spot on Diane - just a dusting then? The point is she quite rightly the country still comes to a grinding halt. I've debated this before and it's a jaded theme every time we get a hint of the white stuff so I'll leave it there.

I went on a works 'do' last night; a pleasant couple of hours in a bar, a lovely two hours in a very good Chinese Restaurant followed by another couple of hours in the bar. There was some excellent company including a surprise visit from fellow blogger Middle Aged Gapper; there was Caroline, Kirsty, Diana, Julie, Sheila, Lucy, then Alan, Alan S, John, Phill, Ian, Trevor, Bryan and brief but very welcome guest appearances from Nichola and Tracy.

Oh My Goodness - the diet - I was very restrained during the meal I have to say but there was a feast of delicate starters: some pork minced with vegetables curled in a Cos lettuce leaf which was lovely. I think there was duck in some delicate little pancakes and loads of seeded breads, spring rolls, skewered bits of chicken and seaweed. I'm sure there were other starters too. The main course was sweet and sour all sorts of meats , beef with black beans, lemon chicken, egg fried rice, noodles and probably some other stuff I never even got round to. All you could eat for £15 and it was good value. This is the first but won't be the last time I've been to a Chinese restaurant and had this type of help yourself menu with the food brought to your table and kept warm on candle fired heaters.

I have come to realise however that my hearing is definitely faulty in some way. The bar was absolutely full and the noise of talking and background disco music meant that I had real problems hearing what people were saying to me - even when sat close to me. My lip reading is improving but far from perfect; I just hope to God I was nodding and shaking my head in the right places.

I was only waiting outside for a few minutes waiting to be picked up by my other half and I was frozen stiff and that was with a woolly thermal hat, thermal gloves, quilted jacket and scarf. My nose was NUMB.

I intended to do all sorts today but once out of the Rise, whilst the major roads were okay today, traffic was backed up all over the place so I couldn't get to the garage of my choice to blow a tyre up. The second garage air pump was out of order so my third garage cost me a quid to use the airline because I had no change and there was a huge queue at the till. I didn't feel like queuing then saying to the suspicious assistant, "I haven't bought petrol, can I have change for the air pump?" I'm never quite sure if they believe you about the petrol when they begrudgingly give you change despite the inevitable comment, "We haven't a lot of change." Well it's their bloody pump and they are charging me for using my fresh air.

I gave up all thoughts of shopping and came home to the warmth.

Keep wrapped up.

Chat soon

Ta-ra

Glad Tidings of Comfort and Joy?

There's a sort of buzz around the workplace as people talk about Christmas, or rather, exclusively their preparations for the event. Some have wrapped presents, some have yet to buy them, "I've been sooooo busy." Some are having their families round to share a Christmas meal, others "nice and quiet, just the two of us." Some are having turkey, some "Can't stand the stuff, we always have steak." One or two are panicking that the cards will need a first class stamp now because they've only just got round to writing them.

Some have a heavy calendar of social events (generally but not exclusively, the younger set,) others just have the one special 'do,' and some don't do anything.

None of them have talked about the reason for Christmas.

Yet in their own way, there is something of the ethos of the day about their activities. My line manager said today that he enjoyed giving presents more than anything else and seeing the joy on his children's faces. Others have families visit for the day and cater for those less able to do it themselves. People send prezzies to the troops fighting abroad and others give to charities to help those most in need. There is a general air of goodwill, fewer crimes are committed on Christmas Day and there are thoughts of those no longer with us but who live in our memories.

Yes there is hardship and that's the flip side with pressure to buy things, pressure on finances, unhappiness for those alone or in combative relationships, depression as years move along at a pace, sadness at opportunities missed, missing any hope of things improving - a world apart from what they would like to experience and a huge contrast to the commercial view of an ideal Christmas and what should be a wonderful and joyful time of year.

Christmas with my family and children (my other half doesn't celebrate Christmas) is very important for me. I do all the prep: cards, buying, decorations, cooking etc., and it's worth every second of effort.

Ghosts and shadows of Christmas Past for me are not like those experienced by Ebenezer Scrooge, rather they are full of happy memories living in our large (tall) Victorian house with my parents, frustrated that I never got out of bed early on Christmas morning. Lovely presents, simple, inexpensive (they hadn't much money) nevertheless lovingly given with coal fires in the background, a real tree and paper chains, glass baubles, tinsel and old fashioned wall decorations of silver and gold coloured leaves.

We always had turkey, sometimes quite a large one and I can even remember one being cooked upside down one year (it still tasted good) followed by Christmas pudding cooked with sixpences covered in silver foil in the middle. Home made mince pies with real cream really completed the stuffed experience. Afternoons were listening to the Queen's speech, a walk if it was crisp and cold and them a buffet tea followed inevitably by Morecambe and Wise shows.

This year, my mum and dad are round and we'll all stay in all day with an afternoon film, with tea around 5 pm consisting of a traditional turkey roast, followed by playing board games and NO television unless there's something VERY special.

Looking forward to the snow in the next couple of days, forecast by the BBC which will give the Christmassy feel.

I had the good fortune of being asked to day to do a Tarot reading for someone at work (who I know hardly at all) which went very well indeed and I have another one planned for Sunday afternoon. I trained about three years ago and have just renewed and refreshed my acquaintance with the cards, something I really enjoy doing. A charitable donation of the sitter's choice means the reading was not only done for a good reason but a charity benefited as well.

Hope the rest of your week goes well; don't feel too stressed and take care with the white stuff.

Chat soon

ta-ra.

3D Animation at its Best; a Must-see

Christmas Carol picture from here.

I went to see Christmas Carol last night, the Disney Pixar 3D animation of one of the best known tales of all time. It had a hell of a challenge following in the footsteps of some of the most famous adaptations including versions with some famous Scrooges for example Alastair Sim, Albert Finney, Michael Caine, Patrick Stewart and now, of all people Jim Carrey.

I have to say that Carrey and Disney have produced an all time classic and apart from one or two scenes designed for the purposes of entertainment and showing off the 3D, it was fairly faithful to the book. Carrey's interpretation of Ebenezer Scrooge was subtle, slightly underplayed as it should be and had shades of sounding like Alastair Sim. I truly believe that even though we only experienced his voice, it has at last showed him the mature actor he can be. Interesting that like Johnny Depp, here's another American who has mastered the art of 'English' English. He was wonderfully supported with the voices of Colin Firth, Bob Hoskins and Gary Oldman, but the winner is the exceptional animation which was not in any way over the top.

The 3D experience is great. I first saw decent 3D when I took the family to America in 2006 at Universal and Disney studios where characters came right off the screen at you and this animation made you feel almost inside the scenes.

Highly recommended, even though you may not like this traditional and predictable story, just the 3D experience is enough to pay the entrance fee.

Like the cold bleak weather in the film, December wet weather has arrived, squally showers off the North Sea are buffeting us this afternoon making the day a raw one. Sky News weather forecasts wintry showers proper with snow etc., from Thursday next week, just in time for my works night out!

I had a whiskey and ginger last night, the first for a while, so I thought we'd have some drinking stories today.

A group of fonts walk into a bar. "Get Out," shouted the landlord, "We don't serve your type in here."

A priest, rabbi and a vicar walk into a pub. The landlord says, "Is this some kind of joke?"

A man walks into a bar with a lump of tarmac under his arm. "What'll you have?" Enquires the barman. The man replies, "I'll have a pint and one for the road."

Shakespeare walks into a bar. The barman says, "I can't serve you. You're bard."

And finally... A man walks into a bar and orders ten double whiskeys and lines them up on the bar. He drinks the first glass, the third glass, the fifth, seventh and ninth and he's just about to walk out having left the others. "Where are you going?" Asks the barman, "Aren't you going to finish the rest?"
"No," says the man, "My doctor said I could only have the odd drink."

Have a great week

Chat soon

Ta-ra!

Tonight is the Night of the Demon!

I've borrowed the picture from this site!

I think I've heard it all now, on the BBC News Online service today is the news that a film is being made based on an adaptation of the 2009 book Pride and Prejudice and the Zombies! This means apparently that Jane Austen's classic has a new subplot that the story takes place as the dead rise from the grave! The five Bennett sisters will all be trained in the deadly martial arts. This is hilarious - I have to see this.

Perhaps Austen's original chapter ten lines:

"Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger."

Might turn into this in the film plot:

"Elizabeth, thinking she was going to defy him, noticed his green pallor and peeling flesh around his once handsome jawline and because she was such a sweet innocent thing, she felt something towards this deranged beast. He was bravely stumbling up the road against all odds of nature as his left leg was hanging precariously by a mere sinew. Darcy was so intent upon slaying her and bringing her into the band of Zombie brotherhood, he smiled as sweetly as his missing front teeth would allow in order to charm her. Clearly, she was just a common bit of crumpet that no-one would notice was missing after she had been indoctrinated into his dark, evil realm of half life. Oh how he had underestimated her ability in the noble art of Shaolin Kung Fu."

Hmm, doesn't have the same ring somehow.

I remember staying up and watching the late Friday night Hammer films on ITV at home in the 1970s, Dracula, Frankenstein etc etc with my all time favourite actors of that generation Christopher Lee and dear old departed Peter Cushing. When they ran out of those Hammer features, they ran some of the earlier horror films with the older stars, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney. But those old doyens and trailblazers in the black and white art of the macabre descended into farce as they teamed up with Abbot & Costello for example in Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein and (this is a gem) Mother Riley Meets the Vampire!

The evening's horror film always started with an eerie foggy scene on the screen and the continuity man saying the immortal words... "Lock your doors, bar your windows, for tonight is the night of the Demon."

Makes me shiver to think about it. Talking of films, I'm going to see Jim Carey in 3D Christmas Carol on Saturday night. I also need to find time to go and see Paranormal Activity, but this is a go-alone film I think, because no-one will go with me!

What's a Vampires favourite fruit? A necktarine.

Have a great weekend - get wrapped up!

Chat soon

Ta-ra.

Games People Play

Calmer, colder, drier weather on the way for the weekend - at last!

Now, there's a great BBC Magazine article on line called How Stranger Danger Changed the Way Children Play. This is a thought provoking and interesting insight into the reasons why our children play less in the streets, parks, "bomb sites" and other places, not least of which is the danger from strangers. Road traffic accidents are as much of a danger, but either way, there may be a generation of children who don't know what playing in the street is like.

We had a tenfoot at the back of our house that was a dead-end and it was very safe to play I suppose. My mates and I would play cricket in a summer and footy in the winter down it kicking the ball against Mr Kirknesses wooden garage door. We occasionally lost the ball among his chickens in his garden or it went in any one of the gardens along the tenfoot when we hit a six (and you were out automatically which taught us to hit the ball close to the ground.)

We played all the usual games, tig, hide and seek, we joined the girls when they tied their skipping rope to the lamppost and generally hung around doing no harm.

As I got into teenage years, games became more physical, and the street near my grandmother's house was a cul-de-sac so it was relatively safe to play British Bulldog, more sophisticated hide and seek, and a letters game where you all lined up at one side of the street and when random letters were called out and if that letter was in your name, you could progress across the street one step for each letter you had until the first person crossed the street and they won. Cricket against lampposts for wickets was normal and coats on the road for goalposts made a makeshift soccer pitch.

Chalked hopscotch pitches were easily drawn on the pavements and marble rinks were fun. We made our own home made go-karts out of scrap wood and old pram wheels and had races down the 'slope'; mind you, if you didn't stop in time, you hit the brick wall at the bottom! There weren't as many cars then of course and the street was always half empty, not like now where every inch of kerb is used for parking. But then I suspect people were more tolerant of kids then than they are now which doesn't help. Shame.

Ah fun indeed.

Psychic circle night tonight so have to crack on with tea early so no story, but have a great week.

Chat soon

Ta-ra