Romiley

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 about the planned excursion. The weather is more or less guaranteed to be wonderful tomorrow - a bright autumn day with rich colours. I will be walking in what I call virgin territory for I have never been there before. I expect I will cover eight or nine miles before catching the 16.08 train home.

As the saying goes - simple things please simple minds. However,  I know that one day I will be too old and infirm to plan something like this so I will enjoy it while I can and relish every footstep and every new sight.

Peak Forest Canal at Romiley

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/rqFvJL2

Lovely Linda and Meaty Farts

 

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 mortified .

Blaming Dorothy seemed like the most obvious of ruses 

So I said nothing and hoped she wouldn’t notice

Linda was as gracious and as smiley as always 

But I noticed that she didn’t stay long

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/1p6YJ2l

Fly

 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