Rivelin

This morning was quite lovely. I had risen, showered, dressed and breakfasted early. Then I jumped into Clint's cockpit and headed off to the valley of The River Rivelin. It's only ten minutes from our house. The little river descends from the moors and makes its way to the Hillsborough area of Sheffield.

Like the city's other rivers - The Porter, The Sheaf, The Loxley and The Don, The River Rivelin once powered an array of metal-related workplaces. If you know how to look you can see evidence of that early boom period which foreshadowed Sheffield's emergence as the bustling centre of this kingdom's steel industry.
 At the top. a mandarin duck swims in one of the mill ponds that were left behind and above an ancient packhorse bridge traverses The Rivelin. Below, I like the delicate look of those trees growing in the mill pond which served  workshops connected with "The Wolf Wheel". For two hundred years, men and women were involved in grinding cutlery and razors in this vicinity.
Below, The Rivelin babbles over stones on the left as a man-made mill stream runs parallel to it. The stream would have turned a water wheel in a controlled manner.
Just beyond this point, I saw three people approaching: a man, a woman and a boy. To my surprise the man yelled out, "Neil!". He had recognised me from afar, even though we hadn't seen each other in ten years.

His name is also Neil. I first met him in the early eighties when he lived in a rental property with four mates, not far from our old house at Crookes. Back then we used to call those young men "The Young Ones" after the British comedy series of that name. There was a Neil in that too - played by Nigel Planer.

Today we chatted for a while - it was good to see him - but I was walking one way and he was walking the other. Before we parted, Neil insisted on hugging me even though I told him that I only really feel comfortable about  hugging women. Neil is 58 now. It's hard to believe. Physically he has hardly changed.

Later, on the steep valley side, I  passed this empty farmhouse - in the process of renovation. It's called Windle House Farm but there is no farm there any more.
Later still, Clint took me to The Valley Side Garden Centre where I enjoyed tea for one and a delicious bacon and brie panini sandwich with cranberry sauce. I also bought a healthy looking mint plant - ready to  place in a corner of our garden. 

It had been a very nice morning.


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Clocking in

 To say that in ten years of writing this blog, at this point in my life, I’m vulnerable. I’m fragile. I’m strong when needed. I don’t have a choice. You’re sustained on the knowledge that to survive and thrive, change will come. And my reactions have to be commensurate. I’m putting my body through the wringer, and my mind has yet to align. Every good thing takes time. Love you all



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Teach

 Forty years of PT

Flip the script

Start at square one

What once served you

No longer does

God what are 

Teaching

The same applies

For your house

I’ve changed

And that’s okay

I’m no longer

Who I once was

I’m learning who

I am 

Once again



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