I was at my sister's house for a party, and met a few pots I'd made back in yesteryear. I think the teapot will date from about 1988? Or thereabouts.
Nice to see them, I'd forgotten that she has a fair collection of my stuff.
I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes. I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over. I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong. And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions. I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely. It's what we do.
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Saturday in the Rain
My pal, Ken, and I, went to Howarth, West Yorkshire, to try out the beers of the Howarth Steam-Brewing Company. On the way into the village (famous as the home of the Bronte sisters, all that Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre stuff... "Take me, Heathcliffe!")
we passed over the Keighley and Worth Valley Railway, and I thought I'd stop to grab a couple of pics of the scene outside the engine-shed. As I turned to go, I heard a whistle behind me, and spun around in time to film an approaching train.
I was drenched, it was raining heavily, the pics are blurry, but hey. It's fun.
The beer and new friends were good too.
The Red Dirt Girl shares my enthusiasm for trains, and I wished she was there. I confess, last time I took her to Howarth, I bullied her into mountaineering up the steep village street, when I could have parked at the top.
I think, though, that struggling to get somewhere makes you appreciate it all the more. Sorry, my dear.
I think, though, that struggling to get somewhere makes you appreciate it all the more. Sorry, my dear.
Some pictures from an earlier, sunnier visit: