R's rue

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 engi...

 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. B...