Timeline

By The Humber yesterday

What a full day yesterday was for me. You get days like that don't you? Many days can be kind of empty - nothing of note happens - but occasionally you have days that are full to the brim and that was my Friday. I think I will explain with the help of times.

8.00 - Out of bed and into the shower. Downstairs to a simple breakfast with a mug of tea.

8.45 - In Butch the Juke with Shirley and we are on our way to Scunthorpe.

9.15 - At last we are on The Parkway heading away from the city having battled with morning traffic.

9.55 - We arrive at The Woodlands Crematorium in Scunthorpe.

10.30 - The funeral service is over. Farewell to Shirley's Auntie Mary. She was eighty six and one of her father's younger sisters. During the service - as she had requested - a song by Queen was played - "I Want to Break Free". Fortunately, Aunt Mary did not break out of her coffin. I must give some thought to my own funeral music. Could be any day now.

11.10 - We have arrived at a bungalow to the south of Scunthorpe town centre. We are here with Shirley's sister Carolyn to meet up with their brother Steve and his wife. For some odd and uncertain reasons they have not met up in over a decade. There was a rift over something or other but today was not the day to address that division. It was a time for healing and reconnecting. We sat in their summer house and drank coffee, nibbling at homemade oatie biscuits. As a kind of uninvolved bystander, it was nice from my point of view to catch up with them again. I hope the two sisters and the brother can move on now, leaving whatever it was behind them.

13.38 - I am on a Number 6 bus heading to Scunthorpe bus station. Shirley is driving back to Sheffield in Butch the Juke.

14.15 - I am on a Number 350 bus heading north to The Humber and then across The Humber Bridge to Hull.

15.45 - I have arrived at the Hull Transport Interchange.

16.00 to 17.30 - Walking. First to the old town in Hull and then along the north shore of The River Humber, passing old dockland and remnants from history. I arrive at The McDonalds  at The Quays Shopping Centre. I am only in there to use their toilet facilities. Thank you Ronald! I needed that.

17.40 - I am in  The Mahal Tandoori Indian restaurant on Anlaby Road. I order chicken bhuna, one chapatti and an onion bhaji. For once I decide not to bother with rice. They also bring me half a pint of Kingfisher beer and a pint of tap water.

18.20 - I leave The Mahal Tandoori and set off walking to The MKM Stadium

18.40 - As pre-arranged, I leave my  backpack at The Security Office. They are doing me a special favour. There are now strict rules about what you can take into a football stadium and even a medium sized camera is not permitted. Don't ask me why. In the past there was no problem.

18.50 - I climb the stair to the top level and buy a hot chocolate from the kiosk which is called "The Hunger Bridge".

19.10 - Tony and Karl appear and we have a good old chinwag about the football, politics, womenfolk and the price of fish.

19.55 - We are in our seats but I am sitting away from them next to a season ticket holder called Trevor from Cottingham. We were born in the same year. The two teams come out of the tunnel - The Tigers of Hull and The Lions of Millwall. The stadium is packed and once again we heartily sing, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You". Thank you Elvis - or should I say Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George David Weiss who actually wrote the song.

20.48 - Halftime. It has been an engaging match but no goals. Some stalemates can be gripping. I meet up with Tony and Karl again. Three wise men putting the world to rights and bemoaning the rise of the horrid Reform Party  in this country. Why are some voters so flipping stupid?

21.50 - The game is over. Still 0-0. Down to London for the second leg on Monday night but tickers for that match are as rare as hens' teeth.

22.00 - I have picked up my backpack from the Security Office and I am heading to the club shop. There are some nasty Millwall fans around. They have a wicked reputation. Maybe they did not approve of Hull City fans singing , "Back to your shithole! You're going back to your shithole!" I buy Phoebe a plate with Hull City written in amber  four times around the rim.

22.10 - Hundreds of City fans are still milling by the steps up to the railway bridge. Progress is  slow but after that bottleneck I am marching on to Hull Paragon Railway Station. I have a ticket for the 10.45 train back to Sheffield.

22.40 - I reach Platform 1 with five minutes to spare.

22.45 - The train is not crowded. There are a few Millwall fans on board but they are surprisingly civilised and not spoiling for fights with the other passengers. I read another chapter of my book. The train stops at Brough, Goole, Doncaster, Conisbrough, Mexbrough, Swinton, Rotherham an Meadowhall but it is bang on time.

00.15 - I disembark at Sheffield Midland Station and because it is a pleasant, dry night, I decide to walk home. I march the 2.5 miles and only stop for a rest outside "The Porter Brook" pub where there is an inviting seat though the pub itself is closed.

01.00 - I have achieved something from my personal bucket list. At last, I stand on the grassy roundabout at Hunter's Bar with its mini-woodland and its ancient toll bar. There is very little traffic around. Then I march up the long hill that is Ecclesall Road, never stopping until I reach our house.

01.15 - I am sitting at this computer with a large glass of red wine and a rice cake.

02.00 -  Bedtime.

Phew! On yes, blogmates, that was a day and a half that was and it was good just  to be alive - unlike Auntie Mary whose days are done. She lived them well and found a lot of joy in her eighty six years but now - just like Freddie Mercury - she has broken free. Perhaps she is in Grimsby.

Quiztime

There are some pictures to tease you with in this episode of "Quiztime". How many can you work out? As usual, the answers will appear in the Comments section. Good luck!

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1) Cross section of a sporting item but what is it?

2) This is a super close up of something  - with multiple choice answers.

(a) An African cigarette  (b) One of Donald Trump's bone spurs

(c) The tip of an apple core stalk (d) The anus of an earthworm

3) A close up of something that you can eat. But what is it?

4) Seen from below and in a European city....

5) Who is this chubby American schoolboy?

6)  And that leads to this. The young of a certain creature but which one?

7) You will have definitely seen pictures of this famous Asian building - but what is it?

8) From a human body - but thankfully not mine. What is it?

9) Sadly no longer with us but who is it?

10) Super close up of a head  but what or who is it? (Don't have nightmares!) Multiple choice answers to choose from...

(a) Pete Hegseth  (b) a chihuahua puppy

(c) a very bad LSD trip (d) a woodlouse

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That's all folks! How did you do?

Album

A small presentation of recent photographs, not previously shared on this humble Yorkshire blog. Above - on the path from East Ardsley to Haigh Moor last Wednesday and immediately below, on the same expedition - the gates of St Michael's parish church...

And now back to our garden. Who is that lurking in the shubbery shadows? Can you see him?

Standing on the wall in the shadow of the privet hedge is Noddy - The Guardian of The Stones. I cannot even remember every place where I picked up those stones for random different reasons.

And in another shady nook, two of our senior gnomes - Penguin and Hamster - named after two gentleman bloggers who reside in Alexandria near Washington D.C.. They are currently on an extended gnome cruise.

Yesterday, I took wee Margot for a walk around the block. Oddly on an adjacent street there's an old tractor that hasn't moved in years. Naturally, Margot wanted to sit on the driver's seat.

And this very day, I took an urban walk. A stone's throw from our house you reach Brincliffe Edge Woods. I walked along this long avenue...

And deep in the woods I stumbled across an encampment set up by a few homeless people. Not something I have ever seen around here before...

Snowball hydrangea blooms outside a house on Edgedale Road. It was an eye-catching display.

On Brincliffe Edge, there are allotments like this one. Parcels of land where Sheffielders can grow vegetables or flowers and simply have their own peaceful inner city sanctuaries.

Across busy Abbeydale Road, I snapped this Italian cafe - North Town during a little break in the traffic. It seems a suitable name for a cafe in the north of England. I wonder if they serve Yorkshire puddings...

Anthem

Arsenal are not my team but I am glad that they have done really well this season in The Premier League. They play an attractive brand of flowing, honest football and there is sparkling talent all over the pitch. They play together as a proper, united  team, all pulling in the same direction.

Last night they were up against Atletico Madrid in the second leg of the semi-final of  The European Champions League competition. They scraped home courtesy of a  scrambled first half goal scored by captain and England international - Bukayo Saka. And now they are through to the final against Paris Saint-Germain.

After the match, the massed Arsenal supporters delivered a loud, spine-tingling rendition of what has become the club's unique anthem - "North London Forever". It was only written in 2022 and was never intended to be a football anthem. However, the creator happens to be an Arsenal supporter who was born and raised in Islington.

His name is Louis Dunford and having listened to the full song a few times, I would suggest that it was only ever intended to be an affectionate homage to his home city with all of its big metropolitan confusion, its modern issues, its cultural variety. The fact that the song has been adopted by the football club he loves must blow his mind with pride and joy.

Of course the fans only sing the chorus but the edgy, urban full lyrics are worth looking at. I will just supply the first verse followed by the uplifting chorus that Arsenal supporters have adopted and after that a video from The Hammersmith Apollo two years ago. You might just get the "vibe":-

As I walk these streets alone, through this borough I call home
Upon the barren fields of Highbury 'neath the stadiums of stone
Through the turnstiles at The Angel, see the homeless on the green
From The Cally to The Cross, and every shithole in between
Past the church, the mosque, a crack den, and the offie on the corner
See the brasses from the brothel that pretends to be a sauna
Watch the bedlam in the bookies, see the winners and the losers
Seeking solace from their sorrows in the local battle cruisers
Through the madness in the market, weathered faces turn to greet ya
"Hello guvnor, how's your mother?"
"You alright son, be lucky, geeza"
Double pie and mash and liquor, a cuppa Rosie Lee up chap
Or watch retired gangsters bicker, everyday in Arthur's cafe
The little fuckers causing trouble, for the cozzers make you smile
You meet ya muckers for a couple, forget your troubles for a while
From The Thornhill to The Hemmy, all the faces are the same
'Cause the manor might be changing, but the people still remain

North London forever!
Whatever the weather,
These streets are our own!
And my heart will leave you never!
My blood will forever
Run through the stone!

I wish that Hull City had an anthem like that instead of a recycled Elvis Presley song. By the way, British visitors may be interested to learn that Louis Dunford's mother is the TV actress Linda Robson who first entered the national consciousness via "Birds of a Feather" with Pauline Quirke.

Garden

Dave and Steve - just two of our garden gnomes

During my twenty one years of blogging I have discovered one sure thing about bloggers - they're a nosy breed. A few weeks ago now, the legendary North Florida blogger Mary Moon asked if I would share some pictures of our garden. By now, she probably imagined that I had forgotten about her request - but I hadn't. Today, I nipped out to capture some images of our long, thin suburban garden.

When we moved here in 1989 the garden was a neglected, overgrown and unloved wasteland of long grass, brambles and forgotten brick-edged pathways from the nineteen twenties. There wasn't even a fence or gate or anything at the bottom of the garden which backs on to a communal lane.

The previous owners - who were British "Scrabble" champions - clearly weren't in the least bit interested in gardening and the lack of a fence at the bottom of the garden probably seemed unimportant given the lethal barrier of tangled bramble briars there. No intruders would ever do battle with that.

It was a wild domain in which neighbourhood cats could sun themselves, foxes could copulate and flying  insects were untroubled by interfering humans.

Then I arrived and within three weeks set to. I hired a heavy duty petrol-driven strimmer, made bonfires, used "Round-Up" and tamed the jungle. The next thing I did was to make a little brick path that I pictured leading from the lower part of the garden to the top  part. There would be shrubbery borders to each side of the path. 

At the bottom part of the garden there would be a lawn and in the top part a vegetable patch. The very size of the garden was the thing that swung it for me when we decided to move here. It is 45 metres long - I know this because I once measured it.

Our garden is not neatly manicured and still has a degree of rough, unkempt wildness to it but that is how I like it.

In her retirement, Mrs Pudding has become much more interested in gardening and is often out there nowadays, showing keen interest. In the past - when she was nursing and being a homemaker, she was rarely drawn out to work in the garden. It was mainly a place to hang our washing. I must say, I rather like the fact that she now finds a lot of pleasure in growing things, tending plants and noticing the changes that Nature oversees.

In cities, many people do not have private gardens so I think we are very fortunate in that regard. I am  not going to label my pictures. I think that together they speak for themselves. I present our English garden in the suburbs of a Yorkshire city in May 2026...

Bowie

Come back David Bowie! We need you to rework your song, "The Man Who Sold The World". Please re title it - "The Man Who Broke The World" and this time focus on the activities of the 47th President of the USA or POTUS for short.  You might reflect on his tariff penalty chaos that foreshadowed the current war on Iran.

These actions have been disastrous for the world as a whole and into the mix you could throw in some asides about "Drill baby drill!", Greenland ambitions, thinly veiled allegiance with Putin the Tyrant,  the kidnapping of Nicolas Maduro, the cruel scrapping of USAID, The Nobel Peace Prize fiasco and the gross dumbing down of political rhetoric. 

Yes, "The Man Who Broke The World" will make a perfect title for this song from the grave David.

The current occupant of The White House is an impetuous person, puffed up with self-importance and blind faith in his self-assumed exceptionalness but the truth is he is shallow, not well-read, reluctant to take expert advice on anything. And today many well-informed onlookers suspect that he is falling apart both mentally and physically.

When he sparked his crazy, untimely war upon Iran, he clearly had no appreciation of how things might develop. It was as if he had lifted his plan from a comic book. 

The US goes in with their flags fluttering and their military might pumping and the enemy capitulates. A white flag is raised. In Washington D.C. cheering crowds laud their beloved president as in Tehran an obedient puppet leader is installed. And they all live happily ever after.

I doubt that #47 had even heard of The Strait of Hormuz before the war kicked off let alone understood its significance in terms of the global economy.

Through his belligerent, unnecessary and ill-considered action he is breaking the world. Fuel prices rise along with food prices, agriculture is severely impacted along with aviation and there is great anxiety and nervousness abroad.  Over 120 innocent girls were killed by American might without apology in the Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Minab, Iran. And who did all that? Why - him - "The Man Who Broke the World":

We passed upon the stair

We spoke of  this and that

Something strange about his hair

Then he donned a MAGA  hat

Which came as some surprise

I spat into his eyes

"I dreamt you died alone

A long, long time ago"

[Chorus]

Oh no, not me

I never lost control

You're face to face

With the man who broke the world

Thank you David.

Saltmarshe

Heading to Saltmarshe Hall Dairy Farm with The River Ouse to the right.

I neglected to mention that when I drove homewards yesterday afternoon after the football match, I came off the M62 motorway at the Howden junction. My destination was Saltmarshe on the north bank of The River Ouse.

There I wanted to gather three more Geograph photo squares to add my current tally of 19,002 photographs contributed. The diversion would not take me very long - about forty five minutes and then I would be back on the road, heading home for chicken curry making responsibilities. There would be just a bit of walking to do.

Saltmarshe is a remote East Yorkshire village which you reach along narrow lanes. There are only about twelve houses there, two farms and a grand Georgian "hall" that was once the home of  the Saltmarshe family who could trace their history right back to the Norman Conquest. 

Plough Farm, Saltmarshe

Saltmarshe Hall is now a wedding venue. In fact, my best friend Tony's youngest daughter was married there in 2018. I wrote about it here.

In that peaceful riverside settlement, off the beaten track, I successfully nailed my desired squares as the three photo-illustrations that accompany this blogpost  show. 

As I walked past Saltmarshe Hall, I noticed that there was a wedding reception in progress. In the garden there was a little ice cream stand, no doubt ordered by the happy couple. Cheekily, I  wandered through the gap in the hedge and asked the ice cream lady if I might have a cone as I was gasping for something.

Kindly, she agreed. We had a nice little chat and though she said I need not pay anything for my rum and raisin cornet, I gave her three pound coins - suggesting they could be slotted into her grandchildren's piggy banks. Whereupon she revealed that  she was not only childless but she had "lost" her husband to cancer last year. "Well put it into your own piggy bank then, " I said. "Add it to your next holiday fund".

She was a nice lady and I am sure I could have conversed with her for hours. Sometimes you just "click" with people. She was also a Hull City supporter and was delighted to hear that we had made the play-offs yesterday afternoon.

Railway bridge just north of Saltmarshe on the Sheffield to Hull railway line.