Bereft of habit,
the tonsured friar gazes.
Bereft of habit,
the tonsured friar gazes.
A fine, illuminating anecdote incorporating three of my interests, enjoy
Yesterday was an “Open Day” at Venetian Marina (Middlewich Branch, Shropshire Union, Cheshire), and there were many fine experiences to be had.
I had a pootle on and a steer of Venetian Hire Boat’s new baby “Day” and “Weekender” boat, Barcarolle. More of that in a post soon. Most splendid, most splendid indeed.
Narrowboat Glass were there (they are based in the marina, so it would be peculiar were they had they not been there). More of that in a post soon, too.
The bunting was out, the weather played nicely – a surprise in itself, after the previous day’s wind and rain and coolth. The Doggie boat was there, the Rag boat was there, the Pirate boat was there. There were wood-carvers, jewellery-makers, canvas cover repairers, River & Canal Rescue, local radio and all sorts of weirdos, myself included.
The day was punctuated by live performances of various sorts.
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Keenly plucked strings
played the pizzicato way,
rhythm and refrain.
Your heart on your sleeve
can leave you vulnerable
although such love is fickle
it educates us in life
There was a young teenager from Lee
whose breasts grew exponentially
with each day that passed
she needed new bras
it became rather embarrassing you see.
a word with so much meaning
Cheering only to owners,
shareholders and Directors
The Winter holly
festooned with blood red baubles.
Fast food in the snow.
The church was full today. The whole town had gathered to say a heart-felt goodbye to one of their oldest residents, Jan Prideaux. Eighty four years of age, old Jan had continued working until the day he died. Like his father and grandfather before him, masters of their trade. Now the village would no longer have a blacksmith. As a boy he had cut his teeth shoeing the horses from the farm, the big house and the local hunt stables. All had succumbed to changing times. Motor cars, tractors and the demise of hunting with dogs. No more would the smithy ring to the sound of hammer blows, the hiss of steam from drenched iron or the wheeze of the bellows keeping the raging fire aglow. It was fitting that Jan would be carried through the doors so beautifully decorated with the crafted ironwork of his last commission.
Graham inserted the key. Behind him Julie nibbled her upper lip and looked at the peeling paint on the once dark-blue door. He seemed to her to be taking a long time and it was cold standing out here on the dark doorstep. There was very little light from the street lamp on the opposite side of the road. At last he said, “That’s got it,” and pushed the door open before reaching for the light-switch. The hall stayed dull as if the lamp was operating on low power. “After you,” he reached behind her and stood to one side as she entered, “the first door on the right,”. She took a step forward and turning the handle indicated, pushed the door open. He reached past her and flicked another switch, this time the light was brighter. “Welcome in,” he smiled, “what do you think of it?”
Julie looked around, her first impression was she had entered a Victorian boudoir with two large armchairs, a dresser with a large mirror and old-fashioned china ornaments. A tall dark wood bookcase filled one wall. The top two shelves were crammed with very old looking books in leather binding. She realised that it was probably these which gave the room it’s distinctive, rather unpleasant smell. If she was going to visit him again she would have to do something about that. A strange thought occurred to her that it smelt like something long dead.
Graham looked at her nervously, he could sense something wrong. He hoped that she would not be another of his guests who got frightened and asked to leave before his fun began.
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