Tag Archives: Crosby
The Ides of March
Beware, cried the soothsayer. Or was it the East wind? As I sit down to write this post – amid boxes of tiles, plaster dust and paint – I calculate that it’s XIII days before the Kalends of April. I … Continue reading
Slacks, golf – and George
When, in 2004, we moved up north to Liverpool, we bought a house in complete ignorance of the district’s main attraction: ten minutes’ walk from our front door was a long, sandy beach. I knew the land came to an … Continue reading
Two dog night, no dog morning
Saturday. Under clear blue skies we set sail for Manchester. (I lie. We drive.) The hotel’s grand. Victoriana at its best. Come six o-clock we head out, past the old town hall, accessorised for fun with helter-skelter, big wheel and … Continue reading
The Grand Local
In hairdressing salons all around town girls coiffed in big rollers sit, patiently, reading magazines, scrolling phones. Waiting for lash extensions, manicures, make-up. Outside, bitter gusts blow rubbish down the street. Men wearing scarves bend into the wind as they walk. Women in … Continue reading
Travelling through time and space – with a crache
I watched Doctor Who last night. ‘I don’t know where I am!’ Such a familiar feeling. So now it’s Sunday morning and the wretched clocks have gone forward – depriving me of yet another hour’s sleep. But I’m ready for … Continue reading
HP Sauce, pipe tobacco, betting slips – and standing room only at ‘our local’
A bank holiday. A beautiful sunny day, the spring-blue sky marked only by a very few fragile clouds. A relief after all that glowering gloom and incessant snow. Sparse incessant snow. Enough to remind you it’s wretchedly cold, but too … Continue reading
Small town, big lives
Snow has etched white lines into the wet, dark furrows in the fields. Spring is shivering underground, hiding under bark, cowering inside buds, slowed almost to a halt by the bitter winds from the east and the fallen, frozen flakes. … Continue reading
MEMOIRS OF A HUSK 