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Category Archives: Britain now & then
It’ll all end in lawnmowers
‘I’m sorry,’ says the nice man, as he charges me £60 for a few minutes’ work. To be honest, it was worth it. Not least because it was all my fault. You see, I’ve been a bit irascible the last … Continue reading
Blood on the wall, guts on the floor – ah, the wonder of nature
It’s that time of year – again. Funny how the seasons keep on coming around, but it’s always a bit of a surprise when you notice. When I notice, I mean. The last few mornings, mist has hung like a … Continue reading
Posted in Britain now & then, Lancashire & the golf coast
Tagged autumn, bats, birds, blackberries, blood, fox, honeysuckle, poo, Rosebay Willowherb, sparrowhawk, tawny owl
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Do you like your shrimps shaken – or stirred?
James Bond likes his shrimps potted. It’s the bizarre kind of fact a journalist finds useful for livening up a dull article. I once worked on a magazine in Park Lane, London. At Christmas the printers used to take my … Continue reading
Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls. Two gold llamas. And, Chopin woz ‘ere
We went by train – 35 miles or so as the crow flies. More than an hour and a half, on a Sunday. An interesting journey, chugging past lonely chimneys, their factories long gone. Well, mostly. ‘Uncle Joe’s mint balls … Continue reading
“Fildes, – . Infant. Rode over by the cavalry.”
He was the first person to die. Knocked from his mother’s arms and trampled as the horsemen rode in, freshly-sharpened sabres slashing. It was Monday, 16 August 1819. A sunny day in Manchester. Why did a blameless young child die … Continue reading
“Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it”
I was going to use the first bit of that quotation: “Finality is death. Perfection is finality.” but I thought it was a bit depressing. It comes from, ‘The Crock of Gold’, written in 1912 by Irish poet, novelist and … Continue reading
Fairies and minnows, Codlins and scones
‘Did you wish?’ I say. He didn’t. He caught the fairies, let them go – and didn’t even wish. We’re walking along the canal near Rufford Old Hall in Lancashire. The clump of conjoined fairies – aka fuzzy, aerodynamically perfected … Continue reading
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