Tag Archives: Lancashire
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
“Not even a pot to piss in”
I’ll never look at a certain shape of pot again without thinking of urine. Made of plain clay, it’s taller than you’d imagine a ‘piss-pot’ would be – and narrower round the neck than at its widest point. It stood … Continue reading
My mum and Aunty Maureen. By way of being a paean to a very special supermarket
Every now and again I travel twelve miles to a supermarket. A long way to go, given there are two perfectly acceptable ones within two miles. And both morally acceptable places for me to shop – for reasons that range … Continue reading
Moon over the meanygates
Dark clods of earth, like sticky remnants of Christmas pudding,* form ragged ridges over deep, ice-filled ruts. What once were puddles, ruffled by angry winds, now double as skating rinks – for voles and weasels, mice and stoats. A wintry, … Continue reading
Fish and kiss
Have you heard of the Wars of the Roses? Hmm. I think you’ll need the gist of this bit of British history if you’re to understand what follows – which is actually, I’ll be honest, more about chips (the British … Continue reading
Blowing in to an old new world
A Strauss waltz dances from the breakfast radio. Outside, the headless firs wave their arms like frenzied violinists in some arboreal orchestra. The tall birches, double basses of the tree world, waver and shiver, constrained by their stature – and … Continue reading
When I grow up
‘Fashion designers have those,’ says the little girl, looking up at me as I tromp down the stairs. She’s standing beside the mannequin I bought in a local dress shop’s closing-down sale. ‘I’d like to be a fashion designer when … Continue reading
MEMOIRS OF A HUSK 