Bollington

I had never been to Bollington before. It was this big white obelisk that drew me there. It is called White Nancy and it commemorates the Battle of Waterloo which occurred in 1815. It stands  at the north end of a ridge overlooking the small Cheshire town. Climbing up there was the first thing I did after I had parked Clint on Water Street. Then I headed south along The Saddle of Kerridge but in the picture below I took a look back at White Nancy....

Above - that's Water Street. No doubt the terraced houses were once occupied by cotton mill workers. It was cotton that caused the small agricultural village to grown into a substantial town in the early nineteenth century.

Below - on my eight mile walk I snapped this picture of foxgloves growing wild against a drystone wall near Swanscoe Farm. There are thousands of these plants around our countryside just now and they love the support of  stone walls...

To service industry, The Macclesfield Canal was dug  and engineered in the eighteen twenties. It finally opened to traffic in 1831 but nowadays it is almost entirely devoted to leisure pursuits. The moored canal boat below is called "Little Luv"...

This narrow boat, steered  and probably owned by a young woman was moving south to the town of Macclesfield. She made the mistake that so many have made before her just after midday - waving a cheery "Good morning!"

In Bollington, I rather liked the look of this hand-painted sign - principally concerning canal-related services.

Below - Grimshaw Street in Bollington passes under the Victorian canal so you can rightly call the stone structure an aqueduct...

Three and a half hours after parking Clint, I  pressed my Hyundai key and soon headed north to the village of Pott Shrigley where I snapped this picture of St Christopher's Church before heading back over the hills to Whaley Bridge and thence to Chapel-en-le-Frith and The Hope Valley...

Sunday June 2nd was such a lovely day. A diamond day of greens and blues and prostrate sheep panting in the shade of trees.

On days like that babies should not die.

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/QMs9eK2

Ping pong

 Ping pong, ding dong. My own little reverie taking place on the table. Andrew is goading me into pretending I’m a professional. A swing and a miss. A thud as the body hits the table with force. His eleven year old self is laughing uproariously with glee at my lack of skill. I go round the table picking sides to better my odds. Nothing does the trick. The little rascal still laughs, falling to the floor in hysterics. My foibles must be something to behold. 

I give it back and up the stakes. Can he do better?  I know this isn’t a bet to make or take. I do it anyway. Anything to shut him up. Funny thing is, the kid has some skill or maybe just the will to prove me wrong. Those prepubescent preteens find any need for competition and I gave him the opportunity for showmanship. 

The kid is now in the zone ready to pretend to be the professional. Paddle to ball, eye to ball ready for action. He smokes an ace. I’m ready to shake my head as it is done over an over again. Blows on his fingers, and goes at it again. I tell him to take it easy on me as the wise elder. He retorts: Not so wise now, really. Got to give it to the cocky kid. He’s right. I hate when I’m wrong. Stinks being shown how it’s done. 

I’m stupid enough not to concede defeat. Must be a glutton for punishment. I attempt another go at it. I now make contact with the ball, but it slams into the net. Throwing rackets, er paddles and screaming “you can’t be serious” come to mind. Just a game. Muttering to self. Toweling off. Blaming sweaty palms for lackluster play is the next excuse. Yet I forget my antics are being mimicked by said chap smirking in bemusement. 

Dang!  Really this is what my embarrassment looks like. Oh my. And now the old lady just chalks it up and laughs at self remembering that life is made up of moments we would like to forget, but never do. I admit defeat. Admitting I’m no McEnroe. Then the boy says who is that?  Now I laugh hysterically. 

Oh wow. Now I know I’m old. Oh well. C’est la vie. 

from R's rue https://ift.tt/c9KUAzV