Crossroads

For a while, a language point has been keeping me awake at night. I have tossed and turned, just wondering what the difference is between "crossroad" and "crossroads". My dreams have been filled with crossing roads and this has made me cross.

Well it turns out that the place where two roads cross is a "crossroads" but as you approach the crossroads you will see a "crossroad" ahead of you. It is the road that crosses the one that you are on.

If I say, "Let's meet at the crossroads",  I mean at the place where the roads cross. But if I say "Let's meet at the crossroad" I mean actually  on the road that crosses the other road which is possibly more familiar to both of us.

I don't suppose anybody else has ever fretted about such a thing but I am afraid that that is how my brain is wired. Words have always mattered to me.

Earlier today, I took my camera out to gather pictures of a typical suburban crossroads here in Sheffield. I thought that visitors from other lands might be interested. It's nowhere special. We call it "Millhouses traffic lights" or "the crossroads at Millhouses" It's where Abbeydale Road - the   A621 - crosses Springfield Road and Archer Road. By the way, Frances and Stewart and Little Phoebe have been living further along Archer Road since COVID brought them back to Sheffield from London. However,  they will be moving out of that rental house before Christmas.

Close to the crossroads and specially for Ms Moon in Florida, here's a traditional fish and chip and what a great one it is too. It's purely takeaway with no seating...

Also close to the crossroads there's a pet shop and a seasonal advertising poster from Cadburys -  Britain's favourite chocolate producers... 

And set back a little way from the traffic lights there's an Ember Inns chain pub called "The Robin Hood". I have enjoyed a few meals and a few drinks in there. When Frances was pregnant with Little Phoebe, we had several meals there during the time of tight COVID restrictions

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/1ZIJqkf

Martin

In the middle 1990s I had a sort of a thing with a guy, I will call Martin.

My relationship with P was on the rocks and was a real disaster and I found solace and excitement  over some months with Martin when he had a spare evening free from his busy lifestyle. 

I liked Martin.

He was witty and intelligent and loved art house movies and theatre and good food.

He took nothing too seriously but was always clear that he had a long term partner at home who he adored. 

Playing away was always acceptable but only with a chosen one ( or two) 

And Strangely I felt flattered. 

Martin gave away big bear hugs as though it was your birthday everyday, 

He played Chess exceptionally well and liked to read novels aloud.

He laughed a lot. 

Our haphazard relationship ended when I met my husband to be, but at the end of the first lockdown we met each other again in London and in Chester and in Sheffield and it was lovely to feel the same about him albeit with sore knees, bad backs and jovial visits to the loo in the middle of the night.

Last week I found out that he had died.

And only a few days ago, through a mutual friend, I found out that Martin had taken his own life.

It’s his funeral today.

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/ocgFXzu

Love

 See me 

As I am

Not what I’d

Like to be

Trusting you 

Lord with

All of me

And the ones

I love

from R's rue https://ift.tt/Li6eHYG