Snowfall

Snow was promised and so it came to pass. No late visit to the supermarket last night because that snow was falling steadily from 7pm onwards. Why risk skidding around and potentially having a costly accident when you don't absolutely have to go out?

And so this was the view from our kitchen window when I arose this morning - three or four inches  of the white stuff. Not cocaine.

With my quiz pals, I was meant to go to Buxton today for a slap up lunch and drinks all covered by our quiz winnings but we postponed yesterday when we saw the weather forecast. Buxton in The High Peak is the highest market town in England and they really know about winter weather up there. It is twenty eight miles west of Sheffield but in a different climate zone.  Talk about global warming up there and they'll laugh at you.

Yesterday, I needed a walk but I didn't wish to drive so I put my boots on, crossed the main road and walked the length of Bannerdale Road - right down to the bottom. Then I took a path up through the allotments that nestle below the woods on Brincliffe Edge.  It's a steep climb up to Brincliffe Edge Road so a bench near the top was very welcome.

Then a woman with two dogs came along and said, "I know you don't I?"

At first I didn't recognise her and my first inner thought was, "Oh-oh. Did I do something wrong?" but I needn't have worried.

It was the Irish lady - Fidelma - who gave me three car loads of free walling stone in the summer. See here. I did not recognise her at first because her hair was different and she was wearing new glasses. But soon we were rapping away with each other again. 

I find that that is how it can be with some people. You fall into easy conversation and could carry on interminably. We just seemed to be on the same wavelength - there under the trees, with the ground carpeted in bronze, russet and yellow autumn leaves and her two dogs sniffing hither and thither - not their names!

On Netflix I just watched a recent documentary film from Colombia called "The Lost Children" which is nothing to do with "The Lost Schoolgirl". A light plane came down in dense jungle and all three adults on board were killed but four children survived - the youngest aged only eleven months.

They wandered away from the crash site and afterwards the Colombian military along with an indigenous search party struggled to locate them. But forty days after the crash, the children were all found alive! Joy upon joy!

The style of the documentary was unfamiliar which made it all the more engaging. And it was nice to watch something that was so hopeful.

Below, a random photo of allotment No. 19 under Brincliffe Edge. There are around sixty allotments on the sloping ground that can all be rented from Sheffield City Council. Here citizens can grow vegetables and fruit. A few even keep chickens which is a popular pastime with urban foxes. Allotment No. 19 suggests that the tenant may be lacking in enthusiasm though clearly all is not lost.

Help

Help! Now available in novel form, my story, "The Lost Schoolgirl" has become a runaway success - so much so that the publishers are planning to launch a second edition. Trouble is they are demanding a different cover design for the book. I have only been given two choices - above or below. Which would you pick and why?

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I have exactly the same dilemma in relation to the film version of "The Lost Schoolgirl". You may remember that I sold the rights to a Hollywood-based film production company called Scamalot. They have asked me to pick a cinema poster style that could influence the overall mood of the film (American: movie). Which would you pick and why? Above or below?

P.S. These A.I. images were in truth made rapidly using Microsoft Bing Image Creator

Smorgasbord

Rather than hosting a new edition of "Quiztime" today, I have decided to do something a little different. All that this blogpost is about is providing links back to previous homemade quizzes I have published here on "Yorkshire Pudding" in the past year.

Incredibly, for your entertainment, elucidation and occasional frustration, I have created more than thirty "Quiztime" quizzes. But here are just ten of them:- 

March 4th 2024

April 1st 2024

April 24th 2024

May 5th 2024

May 26th 2024

June 10th 2024

June 30th 2024

July 24th 2024

21st August 2024

19th September 2024

Yes folks it is a veritable smorgasbord of quiz questions. Some of you out there might be asking - What the hell is a smorgasbord? 

ANSWER (from Swedish) a range of open sandwiches and 

delicacies served as hors d'oeuvres or as a buffet.

a wide range of something; a variety.

Remembrance

On Monday morning, I was out of the house at 10.45 prompt. I was in a hurry to reach our local war memorial  before the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. This has become an annual ritual for me.

The first year I went up to Ecclesall war memorial, I stood there on my own for the two minutes of silent remembrance. This year there were five other men. We didn't exchange any words  - just stood there in that bright autumn morning paying our respects to those who gave their tomorrows for our today.

For the past three years, I have taken fist-sized beach stones with me. Upon them I have written in permanent marker: "Lest We Forget". I put this year's stone on the memorial's plinth, hoping it might remain there for a full year but it never has.

Close by is All Saints Church which stands proud upon the ridge, overlooking this hilly city. You can see it from miles away. Affixed upon hessian to a churchyard tree was a wreath of knitted poppies - see above. Handcrafted poppies and I thought of the goodness of the maker or makers, sending a simple message of gratitude without words to those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

They did not make those wars. Those who bravely take up the call are the ones who die, the ones who are maimed, the ones who carry the ugly mental weight of war to their graves. Those who make wars tend not to die. They stand back from it. Safe behind the lines or secure in their bunkers.

I know that I am a few days late with this blogpost but homage and respect are not limited to the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Other days are ripe for remembrance too.

Ecclesall war memorial - courtesy of Google Streetview

Communique

 

Above - the head of a griffin on the brass lectern inside All Saints Church, Driffield. We stopped in the little country town for lunch on the way up to Filey. There was a church on the site of All Saints Church before the Norman invasion of 1066 but most of what you see today evolved through later centuries.

Below, I spotted this small boat name at Coble Landing to the north of the seafront at Filey. "The Life of Filey"  would make a great title for a book all about the growth of the little coastal town and its history. Once, its sole reason for existence was the sea, including fishing. Later, in the mid nineteenth century, it became a small seaside resort with its own railway station.

Above, another image of the beach at dawn, taken at Coble Landing where the old "cobles", unique to this part of the Yorkshire coastline would be pulled up after their fishing excursions. Below - "Filey Gifts and Treats" on John Street. Can you spot the spelling mistake and what, by the way, is the "latest craze"?

Above - that's Filey Brigg, reaching out like a spindly old finger into The North Sea. Harder layers of underlying sandstones have effected its endurance. On the spot where I stood to take this picture, there was once a Roman signal station. Below, the claw of a dead crab on the beach as the sun was rising.

Below - the same dawn in which I saw the lugworm digger - again looking towards Flamborough Head where in 1779 there was a naval battle between war ships  from the American navy in league with the French and others from the  British navy during the American Revolutionary War. Read about it here if interested.

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And so yes - we had two delightful nights in Filey. On the first night we devoured traditional fish and chips in The Brown House - fish and chip shop. Naturally, we also had mushy peas, buttered bread and a pot of tea.

On Wednesday morning we enjoyed full English breakfasts in "Kayleigh's Cafe" opposite "Gifts and Treats" after completing our southerly stroll down the beach. Following this breakfast we had a longer walk towards Filey Brigg and then along the north cliffs, keeping well away from the precipice.

In the evening, we unfortunately could not get a table at the much recommended "Belle Italia" family restaurant so had to settle for "San Marco's" on Murray Street which was perfectly fine. We shared a bottle of Sicilian red wine and ordered mixed salads and homemade bread to accompany our lasagnes.

Our first floor flat was called High Tide and it was perfect - clean, quiet and well-maintained. Very comfortable. And considering this month is November, the weather was great too. If it had been grey, cold and wet our experience would no doubt have been very different indeed.

Specially for JayCee on The Isle of Man...

Dawn

At dawn today, I was walking along the beach at Filey. It was low tide and the sun had just risen over Flamborough Head. In front of of me, I saw a man digging for lugworms in the exposed sands. Later, no doubt, he would be using the worms as fishing bait. They are much prized by sea anglers but it takes furious digging to bag just a few of them.

I sensed the possibility of a fine photograph. So intent on his mission was the digger that he seemed unaware of my presence or perhaps he simply chose to ignore me. I snapped five pictures in quick succession but after editing  them, this one emerged as my prizewinner.  

Digging is a noble, worthwhile and  worldwide activity. It has figured in many paintings and writings. I was conscious of that as I clicked my camera's button. And there the man is bent double  upon those sands in  the middle of November, a hundred miles from here.

More from our short break tomorrow.

Van

Someone who is wild about road vehicles is sometimes known as a "petrolhead". Well, that's not me. I have very limited interest in cars or indeed any other motor vehicles. To me they are just functional machines that serve particular purposes such as transporting people safely from A to B.

However, for a few years I have noticed a decrepit VW van often parked round the corner from us and it makes me smile whenever I see it. The prefix "A" on the registration plate tells me that it has been around for forty years. In the intervening time it looks like it has never been washed, polished or repaired.

It may look like a wreck but its longevity probably means that it is an excellent advertisement for the Volkswagen company. Lord know how many miles it has done or where it has been. If it has covered a fairly normal 10,000 miles a year, that means it must have done about 400,000 miles!

And why has it got a sticker in a side window announcing, "I Love Sewage"? That's a very odd thing to love!

I will be a little sad if that very familiar van drives away and never comes back. It has such character!

P.S. I have "scheduled" the publication of  this blogpost as we are now far away in Filey by the sea. Back on Thursday.