Diversion

Hook Island in The River Ouse - also known as Howden Dyke Island

Today, my faithful South Korean automobile kindly transported me to Hull and back. I went to see my football team lose at home to Preston North End though of course I did not know that this would happen when we left home in the morning.

I had set out early enough to factor in some walking and photo snapping around two villages that are close to Goole - Airmyn and Hook. These low-lying settlements sit close to The River Aire and The River Ouse respectively and were familiar to Young Tasker Dunham - the author of "A Yorkshire Memoir" - when he was but a boy.

St David's Church in Airmyn 

The village hall in Hook

After this two hour diversion, I roused Clint and we carried on with our journey to Hull along The M62 motorway. He parked himself at the park and ride facility in Hessle on the west side of the city and then I caught the stadium bus.

Near to the football ground, there is a nice little cafe run by a young Polish couple. For the umpteenth time I met up with my friend Tony there and another Tigers fan called Carl.. I had what they call "a British breakfast" and afterwards a buttered toasted teacake with a mug of tea.

All three of us were hopeful when we marched through West Park to what is now called the MKM Stadium. After all, our beloved team had won their previous three matches against tougher opposition than The Lilywhites - Preston North End.. However, on the day,Preston were the better team and we could not resent their victory by just one goal to nil.

It takes just over an hour to drive back to Sheffield where my devoted wife had prepared an evening meal of grilled Lincolnshire sausages, fried mushrooms, baked beans and dauphinoise potatoes. Just what I needed to assuage my disappointment.  Clint was left outside shivering in the February cold. He is too big to make it through our front door.

Cargo ship at Howden Dyke Wharf on The River Ouse.

It is called "The Wilson Aviles" and was launched in 2008.

"Belfast"

Shirley and I went to see "Belfast" yesterday afternoon. Not the city in Northern Ireland but the semi-autobiographical film about Sir Kenneth Branagh's  childhood in that notorious city. He wrote the script and he directed it. His part was played endearingly and brilliantly by an animated little actor called Jude Hill.

Sir Kenneth Branagh

If you wish to read a professional review of "Belfast", just search the net and I am sure you will easily locate several of them.

"Belfast" is almost wholly presented in black and white, a factor that helps to place it back in 1969 and 1970. The Troubles are breaking out between Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods but that appears like mere background as the film focuses upon the happiness, unity and anxieties of one working class Protestant family.

There 's a pretty stellar cast including a lovely cameo performance by the brilliant Yorkshireborn actress Judi Dench as Granny. Jamie Dornan, who starred in the recent BBC TV production of "The Tourist", plays the part of Pa and I especially liked the performance of Ciarán Hinds as Buddy's grandfather. By the way, Buddy is the name given to Kenneth  Branagh's character.

"Belfast" made me laugh in places and it also made a few tears roll down my cheeks. It was not overly sweet nor overly sentimental but of course it did not set out to paint an accurate hard hitting documentary-type portrait of  Belfast as The Troubles burst forth. It was affectionate as if recalled through the mists of childhood memory and we very much enjoyed it. A lovely, shared cinema experience.

Afterwards, after we had alighted from the number 88 bus, we called in at our neighbourhood's brand new pub - "The Dark Horse" which has opened in the premises of what was once Lloyd's Bank. There we bumped into two old friends - Linda and Ian - and gossiped for an hour before heading home for a later evening meal than we had anticipated.

Earthbound

Every year dozens of new species of animals, insects and plants are recorded on this small planet. I find that kind of mind blowing. There we are sending rockets into space and yet we don't entirely know what we have down here - in our forests, our mountains, our rivers and our oceans.

It is rather tragic to think that as acres of virgin rain forest are destroyed, we frequently lose species that are gone before we have even discovered them.  Collectively, we are meant to be guardians of Earth but evidence suggests that we don't care a fig. We continue to destroy what we have got.

The tiny brookesia nana chameleon shown in the top video was "discovered" just last year though almost certainly it was already known to some inhabitants of northern Madagascar. "Discovered" sometimes means recorded by Science for the first time.

Also "discovered" in 2021 was The Bright Orange Bat (myotis nimbaensis) found only in caves in the Nimba Mountains of West Africa:-

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Ken Dodd (1927-2018)

I am posting this at  2.22pm on February 2nd, 2022. That's 2.22 on the second day in the second month of the year 2022. You could even sing it like this: "Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-too!" As Ken Dodd, the late Liverpudlian comedian might have remarked, "How tickled I am!" to have stumbled upon such a thing. Not all days can be as silly as this one so let's enjoy it as long as we can. A bit of silliness is good for the soul..."Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-too!"

P.S. The name of this font is "Courgette". As far as I know, there is no font called "Zucchini"!

Warmth

I knew that something was up on Sunday morning when I heard Shirley taking her morning shower in our upstairs bathroom. There we just have an electric shower that is fed with cold water. In the downstairs bathroom, the shower  is fed directly from the new "combi" boiler for which we paid a king's ransom last June.

Yes - you have got it. The new boiler  had developed a fault and was no longer working. We checked the manual and in spite of pressing the "reset" button, the boiler soon ground to a halt once more. The digital display was flashing "F29" which meant that we wouldn't be able to fix it ourselves. 

Fortunately, the boiler is under guarantee so on Monday morning a central heating engineer from the company that did the fitting work arrived to assess the problem. He soon decided that it was an issue that needed to be addressed by the boiler manufacturer. 

Another big van arrived this morning from "Vaillant" and within half an hour the problem was fixed. We had central heating and hot water once again. Whaay! Forty eight hours of living in a fridge was over and we could return to normal life.

Both Shirley and I grew up in houses that did not have central heating systems. Our houses were heated by coal fires and electric storage radiators. In wintertime, I often woke up with a freezing nose, reluctant to throw back the cosy bed covers and put my bare feet on the ice cold linoleum in my bedroom. Sometimes there was ice on the inside of our single-glazed bedroom windows. 

At this latitude on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, home heating in wintertime is essential and those cold forty eight hours we have just endured reminded me of how much British people rely on central heating these days. Of course we cannot burn domestic coal any more and in cities wood-burning stoves are greatly discouraged. People are kind of trapped. We have to pay the energy providers.

As I thought about writing this blogpost, I investigated how Arctic peoples kept themselves warm in desperately cold winters. Clothing and footwear were of key importance. Of course they used animal skins including the hides of caribou, seals and polar bears. Their shelters were well-insulated - including igloos built of packed snow. Inside a well-constructed and inhabited igloo, the temperature might rise to be 100 degrees Fahrenheit warmer than in  the outside air. Coastal Inuit people made oil for cooking and light from seal and whale blubber. They were very resourceful people but their winters must have been very hard  indeed. It is likely that genetically they were better predisposed to coping with very cold weather.

Report

Britain has been waiting for ages for a report on goings-on at Number 10 Downing Street during the COVID pandemic, involving our beloved prime minister, his wife and staff. It is sometimes referred to as Partygate. The person tasked with this enquiry is a senior civil servant called Susan Gray that nobody had ever heard about before. She is not related to the world famous blogger - John Gray. It will be interesting to witness how Johnson wriggles out of this one for here, hot off the press,  is Ms Gray's frank and thorough report:-

Minstrel

I have blogged about "Singing Together" and "Rhythm and Melody" before. It was a nationwide music education  project delivered via the good old BBC. In primary school classrooms up and down the land, children gathered to sing along to the radio. I still remember many of those songs and  one I have been thinking about recently is "The Minstrel Boy".

It was written in the early years of the nineteenth century by an Irish songwriter called Thomas Moore. It was first published in 1813 - featuring in Moore's "Irish Melodies" project. The roots of this song are probably much older.

It is a wistful and evocative song that speaks of  war, of bravery and of loss. It is a plea for liberty as much as anything and it comes as no surprise to learn that Moore visited America's southern states in 1806. In dreams I may sometimes see myself as that minstrel boy with my wild harp slung behind me.The song has been with me since 1963. Please listen:-

The Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death you'll find him;

His father's sword he has girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.

"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,

"Tho' all the world betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman's chain

Could not bring that proud soul under;

The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;

And said, "No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery

Thy songs were made for the pure and free,

They shall never sound in slavery!