Walk

Looking beyond the suburb of Fulwood to Sheffield city centre

Yesterday, Shirley fancied a walk in the winter sunshine. Clint agreed that she could sit in the front passenger seat and soon we were heading up to Ringinglow, beyond Sheffield's south western suburbs.

We parked in the car park up Fulwood Lane. It was here during the first COVID lockdown that I would meet with Mick and Mike and Danny for beers and happy conversation that flowed like the nearby River Porter.

Fulwood Lane

There were lots of Sheffielders out and about - walking or cycling or standing outside "The Norfolk Arms" supping beer from the takeaway doors. All pubs have been closed round here since November 4th. The car park off Fulwood Lane was  most unusually chock-a-block but as I say, we found a space.

It wasn't a long walk. No more than forty minutes. We stuck to the lanes because the land has been saturated in recent days. Shirley hadn't walked that circuit before and it was nice for her to see vistas of our adopted city and its suburbs in sharp winter light.

Back home I made a simple meal from chipped potatoes, leftover turkey with gravy, cranberry sauce and  garden peas. Dessert was some of Shirley's scrummy vegan Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, brandy butter and brandy cream.

By the way, I telephoned our son Ian yesterday morning.  He is feeling fine but has not yet received his COVID test result.

A view of Fulwood  with Mayfield Chapel bottom left

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“My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

Another night 

Another weepy film in the dark.

This time it’s Pride and Prejudice with Mathew Macfadyen’s tree trunk thighs 

Oh be still my beating heart!

In a dark living room, I’ve watched a very careful Albert  walk slowly to the blue trendy sofa where Dorothy is sleeping. 

She is snoring as loud as Winnie used to do  and strangely Albert has just joined her, padding carefully like a panther. his big eyes golden.

I held my breath as he curled up behind her, his head tucked tight against his tail and her side and briefly she stopped snoring ,lifted her head and  sniffed him just once with sleepy interest. Then she laid her fat head back down next to his as I let out a sigh

A little thing, but it kind of broke my heart.

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Fellowship

 Last night was the most Christmasy I have felt, thanks primarily to Storm Bella, a living room full of scented candles and the film The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society 

It’s a lovely film and is one that strangely resonates with our own lives under lockdown.

In the film the Characters are under curfew of the German occupation of Guernsey. 

Isolated from each other and from any cultural fellowship.

Isola Pribby is a lonely spinster waiting for her Heathcliffe to turn up in her life, Amelia Maugery a widow overwhelmed with grief, Eben Ramsey a grandfather and postmaster and Dawsey Adams an isolated pig farmer. 

All are hungry for the spark, a literary society meeting gives them, but more importantly it is the friendships that evolves from that shared experience that proves the most significant for each of them.

The experiences of these film characters, will resonate with many of us in blog land ,for we too are little islands in isolation from others.

All in need of connection, 

To feel a part of something

Blogging is our own Literary society meeting

I’d love to say that I’m a sort of Dawsey Adams , but in reality I’m a bit of an Even Ramsey crossed with a Miss Pribby

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Caricature

Here's an old postcard containing famous lines that are meant to sum up a Yorkshireman's character.  To me they are ridiculous. I mean, how can you generalise about 5.5 million people? I am including Yorkshire women in this figure and indeed Yorkshire children too.

The final piece of advice is especially galling - If you ever do something for nothing then do it for yourself. This is very much at odds with my experience of my fellow Yorkshire folk.  If anything, they tend to be charitable and kind - not looking out for number one all the time. Of course, I realise that in saying that  I am also in danger of falling into the stereotyping trap.

Nobody seems to know who came up with the lines in the first place but I very much doubt that it was a Yorkshireman or Yorkshirewoman. They are a crude attempt at caricature but the more I think about those words , the more I think - they are not funny and they are not right either.

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In other news... In spite of COVID-19 restrictions, The Laughing Horse Blogging Awards for 2020 will still go ahead as this challenging year draws to a close. The judging committee have been conversing via "Zoom" and following heated discussions the winners have already been chosen. The much anticipated award announcements will be made on New Year's Eve. Unfortunately, there will be no party. No drunken frolics and no joyful assembly of bloggers from around the world.  Don't blame The Laughing Horse Awards Committee, blame The Virus! Watch this space.

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