Piggish

The meal at "The Robin Hood" down at Millhouses went better than expected. Shirley and I sat at one table while Frances and Stewart sat at another table - two metres apart. Fortunately, we were  the sole occupants of a large alcove and were able to talk freely. We were attended to by a lovely waitress whose friendly demeanour enhanced our dining experience in these strange times.

You were meant to order from a smartphone app but I told our nice waitress that I don't own a mobile phone so she kindly brought paper menus for us. 

After my long walk in Nottinghamshire I was hungry. I had only had a banana and an apple for my lunch. I checked out the menu and noticed this:-

MIXED GRILL  Grilled rump steak, chargrilled chicken breast, thick-cut gammon steak, two British farm-assured pork sausages and two fried free range eggs.

Upgrade to 8oz rump steak for an extra £2.00

All of our steaks are expertly aged for depth of flavour and served with seasoned chips, grilled tomato, flat mushroom, garden peas and crispy onion rings.

Well, I hadn't eaten a mixed grill in years and I was so sorely tempted that I confess I submitted to the temptation. My apologies to any disgusted vegans  (i.e. our son Ian) who may be reading this post. It was a plateful I can tell you and towards the end of my  gluttonous munching  I admit that I regretted going for the larger steak. Uncharacteristically, I even  failed to clear my plate.

All four of us enjoyed our meals and drinks so much that we booked a return visit next week. By the way, we also had desserts. Mine was a Belgian  chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream.

It was nice to catch up with the beloved daughter and her handsome husband. Being in Tier 2 has been difficult enough but today South Yorkshire begins its phase in Tier 3 . We do not know for sure how long Tier 3 restrictions will last but I guess we will be in it throughout November.

What  the hell will Christmas be like this year? Remember Christmas 2019? We had absolutely no idea what lay ahead of us - just round the corner. Will we ever get back to something resembling the old life - the life that we knew before and often forgot to love? We took it for granted.

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Snapshots

 

Life has a habit of side swiping you when you are least expecting it.

I thought this when two large envelopes were delivered to the cottage by post yesterday.

They contained a hundred or so photographs 

Photographs from my twenties.

The photographs had been found a while ago by the owner of my old home in Sheffield, which was a large  warm natured Victorian terrace on Wynyard Road in Hillsborough.

They had been tucked under a built in seat, probably in the mid 90s, and then presumed lost in the subsequent move.

Recently I had wondered if my ex husband had taken them by accident when we separated but zi had been wrong. The photographs were handed over to my former neighbour who is luckily still one of my best friends.

Yesterday he had posted them back to me.

Images of nursing friends and bank clerk mates, of family parties and CB “ eyeballs” 

Proof of the parachute jump I did in my brother’s rally suit at the age of 22. Old girlfriends toasting happy days with Pernod , years before I even thought I was gay.

Amid the snapshots there were around 20 professional looking black and white prints 10 x 6 inches in size and all showboating family and fiends . These were all taken before 1989 by Ian Parry

Click on https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ian_Parry

Ian was a dear friend and a talented newspaper photographer who was killed smuggling his wartime photos out of Ceausescu’s Romania on a Russian Cargo plane

I sorted through the photographs and picked several out which I decided I will frame and give out as Christmas gifts. A lovely portrait of my brother in law and his mother in Evening wear. A family drinks party with my brother laughing. 

Photographs that need to be seen and not hidden away under a seat in an old Victorian house

Ps

My thoughts are with Pat, The Weaver Of Grass who is in hospital at the moment. 

Wishing her a speedy recovery 

I’m back on night shifts ....

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Bach

 Taking a nap

in the sun

being lulled

to sleep 

by Bach

kissed by 

Autumn breezes

and yellow leaves

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heart

 Strong coffee

Willing heart

Praying soul

Open mind

Happy today

How are you?

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Bad Person

I was in Tesco’s in Llandudno junction the other night

I was buying cakes for the day staff.

I recognised the man as soon as our eyes met but couldn’t quite place him until after he had unexpectedly hugged me.

He was the husband of a patient I nursed several months ago now, well before lockdown.

The last time I had seen him, we had hugged

We exchanged platitudes, in greetings, in how he was, about Covid.

Then he said, after I had repeated How are you coping?

“ Grief has turned me into a bad person.”

I inclined my head why and he explained, The words tumbling out of his mouth in a waterfall

“ I hate it when I now see intimate little moments between couples” he said “ when they share a private joke, or they hold hands or they Play argue by the checkout “ he waved his hand behind him at the tills........“is that normal ?...I resent people so much”

”It’s  normal “ I told him suddenly recognising his “pang” of feelings from my own perspective of divorce grief .and I game him my best brave smile and squeezed his forearm with my hand 

He nodded sadly and we stood for a moment

I noticed he had a block of parmigiano reggiano in has basket

 

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Eaton

Doorway of The Old School House in Eaton

What did my father Philip say to me before he died? Oh yes. I remember. Go east young man!

And so I did. Late yesterday morning aboard my South Korean travelling machine, Lord Clint of Seoul, I travelled once more into rural Nottinghamshire. There were notices everywhere: "Tier 3 KEEP OUT!" and "Death to Tier 3!" but we snuck into the village of Eaton, south of Retford and parked opposite All Saints Church. I was not challenged by any of the roving red-faced COVID vigilantes armed as they were with pitchforks and burning torches.

Sad Sack Johnson and his fish-faced health minister are considering tattooing all residents of Tier 3 areas but it would be very easy to conceal the big "3" on one's forehead with theatrical make-up. Consequently, I doubt that their evil plan will ever see the light of day.

All Hallows Church, Ordsall

Off I went by the idly meandering River Idle. Soon I was in Ordsall to the south west of Retford. Inside All Hallows Church I could hear the congregation singing, "If you hate Tier Three clap your hands!" Ooo err! Time to skedaddle.

Clouds began to cluster like worries in one's mind. I passed through Retford Golf Course where several men of a certain age were pulling golf trolleys or clouting their little white balls. Then I cut south to Morton Grange.

Breck Plantation

I saw countless little stones in the fields - all rounded by the erosive actions of ancient seas long before human beings emerged blinking into the light of our existence. Those fields are fifty miles from The North Sea but geology is a very, very, very long story. So long it would make our lifetimes seem like mere milimetres on a ruler that could reach The Moon.

Redundant pub sign in Retford

I needed the exercise. Plodding for almost three hours without ceasing - all the way back to Clint. I was relieved to discover that Tier 2 vigilantes have not yet  employed number plate recognition to root out Tier 3 lepers like me. By the way, there is no relationship between the Nottinghamshire village of Eaton and Eton in Berkshire where our current prime minister idled away his school days.

The River Idle

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