203. Day 7: Show me the way to go home…
We’d promised ourselves some exploring in the Yorkshire Dales and, to that end, had picked up from the tourist centre a promising looking leaflet for a circular walk. As directed, we’d gone through the churchyard, and over a stile, and left at a gate. The next instruction read “turn right at the tethered goats.” Continue reading →
197. I am on a lonely road and I am travelling….
I’ve admitted before that I’m not an adventurous cove.
Exhibit 1 – domicile. Ten minutes walk from childhood home; five minutes from Aged P’s; two streets from previous house.
Exhibit 2 – employment. Teacher for twenty five years, twenty one of those in same school and, had PD not intervened, would probably be there still.
Exhibit 3 – holidays. Adverse to flying – conventional in extreme. Never been outside Europe, unless you count Yorkshire.
So this blog is being written at the start of what is, for me anyway, something of an adventure. I’m sitting in the dark on a balcony outside an apartment in Lille. ActorLaddie and I are inter-railing round Europe for nearly three weeks. Tomorrow we’re going to take the train to Cologne, then head off South to become RhineMaidens.
Tapping a blog out on mobile + added interest of tremor = bitesized, I’m afraid. So three things that have struck me about Lille:
1. Many scary looking police officers, particularly around the station, carrying bloody enormous machine guns.
2. The Bourse has become a market for second hand books, art, music and is utterly beautiful.
3. They still have a C&A’s, bringing back memories of my aunt taking me to the one in Clapham Junction to buy me a bikini for my twelfth birthday, which I insisted on trying on over my vest. Ah, those swinging Sixties.
And, in case you were worried, with the help of TunnelBear making my mobile think it’s still in Britain. I can still listen to the Archers. So that’s all good.
193. Rumble thy bellyful…
Your Honour, I can certainly attest that there was cake. Much much cake.
What’s that? Attest? Yes, good word isn’t it? Truth is, since coming home early from camp on Wednesday, on account of a vicious bout of tonsillitis, I’ve been basically living in St Mary Mead or thereabouts, binge-watching Miss Marple. There are few things more soothing than Joan Hickson: head slightly tilting, hands still knitting, blue eyes kindly twinkling as she explains whodunnit. And, of course, there are people attesting to things left, right and centre. Attesting is the new black.
191. The Secret Agent
Are you sure we can’t be overheard?
I shouldn’t really be telling you this: don’t breathe a word – not even if Tom Hiddleston tempts you to swap confidences with promises of a ride on his motorbike. I will deny all knowledge, if challenged. I’m taking lessons from Boris on denial and will do so at bumbling length and in Latin.
188. Should I stay or should I go?
“I kept this for you,” says Mrs Jones and hands me a leaflet.
Mrs J it was who greeted news of my diagnosis by telling me that she knew several people with Parkinson’s “and they went on some lovely trips.” A rosy prospect, as you can imagine.
I look at the leaflet. ‘Fit for life,’ it’s called, and is illustrated with a photo of elderly people stretching and smiling. I read the back and laugh.
“What?” says Mrs J.
“‘Produced by Age UK’,” I read. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
187. Float like a butterfly…
“So, what does it mean ‘trending on Twitter’?”
“Right,” I say. “Touch the ‘Search’ icon… now, give it a second to refresh – and, look, there’s a list of the main things that people are tweeting about at the moment: at least, the main hashtags being used.”
We look at the list, ActorLaddie and I. Some of the entries mean nothing to me but in at number five, pop pickers, is a real blast from the past. AL touches it and we follow the link to the following tweet:
“Just saw Postman Pat trending on Twitter and worried that 2016 had claimed another celebrity. #Phew #PostmanPat.”
Phew indeed. Simply the start of a new series; Pat being still alive, well and battling extreme weather conditions in Greendale.
185. Desert Island risks…
Today I am covering Mrs Grenfell’s class and am under instructions to lead a discussion on different sorts of airborne travel: aeroplanes, helicopters, rockets and the like.
“I have something sad to tell you about Mrs Sugarsprinkles,” I start. The children glance at Mrs Sugarsprinkles, who attempts to look grave. “At the weekend,” I continue, “she got stuck on a desert island.” I draw on the whiteboard a stick figure with a sad face and long hair, standing by herself under a tree on a small island. I add some surrounding sea and sharks fins, in an attempt to rack up the excitement. Bit of a masterpiece, if I say so myself. Continue reading →
177. He’s making a list and checking it twice…
“Good evening,” says Hazza. “We’re collecting for the local Rotary Group. This year’s charities are the Nightingale Children’s Hospice, Noah’s Ark Hospice and Parkinson’s UK.” Hazza smiles winningly and holds out her tin.
As befits a groovy media student in Swinging London, my niece Hazza chooses her outfits with care. Tonight she is bedecked in a red and green elf dress layered with a fetching hi-vis tabard which has been printed boldly with the details of said Rotary Club. The look is topped off with a cheeky little elf hat. Take note, fashionistas – next year, we’ll all be wearing this.
The Householder peers at her suspiciously. “Do you have an identity card?”
“Well, not actually a card,” says Hazza, “ but our details are here.” And she points to her tabard. Householder still looks suspicious and seems about to close the door. “And,” adds Hazza quickly,” I do have Santa with me.”
149. Out of the mouths of babes…
“It was normal for people over thirty to be frightened of their children. And with good reason…”
(Orwell – Nineteen Eighty-Four)
“Time for our news books – I want you to draw me a picture of something that you did at the weekend and then – using your sounds – to have a go at writing a sentence or two underneath.”
(Every teacher of young children, everywhere.)
140. And freedom tastes of reality…
Way back when, I was sent on a Management course. Most of what we were told has long since been pushed out of my head by other stuff. But one of the activities has stuck with me: the Lego House competition.
The Jelly Chronicles 