R's rue

I am going to Romiley tomorrow morning. My trusty motor vehicle Clint will remain at home because I will be travelling to Romiley by train. Riding on the train I will be able to read. It takes an hour to get to Romiley from Dore and Totley station. The return rail fare is £15.80 ($18 US). "Romiley?" you ask. Where the hell is Romiley?  It is in Greater Manchester  - to the south east of the city and just east of Stockport. In the early nineteenth century, Romiley was an agricultural village surrounded by farmland but during the industrial revolution it was more or less gobbled up by the sprawling tentacles of Manchester. However, there are still areas of green around it. Before I go to bed I need to print off my rail tickets as well as maps that will guide me on my long circular walk. Tomorrow evening I hope to post some of my own  pictures to give you a better idea of what Romiley and the surrounding area is like. This may seem kind of sad but I am quite excited abo...

  I’m not banging on about being busy But I’m busy. I’m on a two day training course and it’s college night tomorrow  I’ve just finished nights as well, And they were busy too. I got home all in a rush, and after dog walking, cat feeding and the like took a few minutes respite and let Dorothy give my feet a jolly good licking It was Delightful!  Now when she’s on a good one, Dorothy can slobber over my bunions for a good half hour, during which she has a particularly odious habit of farting rather heavily.  I think it’s a gastrocolic reflex, like a baby sucking a bottle. And It’s only a small price to pay, to be sure But today I wasn’t banking on the velvet voiced Linda knocking on the door wanting to organise a community council meeting just as Dorothy was in mid lickn’fart I let her in before I realised that not only my feet were covered in slobber, but that the cottage smelled of the meatiest of farts….and boy are we talking meaty.! I was mortifi...

 Apple cider donuts A side of Prosecco The mountains As a backdrop  Red leaves  The garland Of Autumnal Grace Those hugs Of a squealing Seven year old And a boy  Who makes My heart halt As he climbs  The tree And all  I can picture Is Tarzan Wild Free  Fearless And  An example To their aunt To seize the day With gusto and Reckless abandon  from R's rue https://ift.tt/WnM9GlC