Poem

 

Utopia

There you can be who you want to be -
Nobody’s yelling or carrying on.
Pure brooks replenish rivers
Fit for swimming and drinking
And on the seashore, no tangled plastic
Nor the matted corpses of seabirds.

There you can really create stuff -
No one’s dissing your best endeavours.
Sleep is easy in the quiet safety of home
With dreams that are serene
And on the TV screen no endless tales of crime
Nor gloomy broadcasts all the flaming time.

There you feel you are truly living -
Nothing’s menacing your peace of mind as
Starlings flock in rhythmical shoals
When autumn days submit to dusk
And on the edge of felicity - no sudden thuds
Nor faraway grey thunder grumbling.

Elsecar

It's not too far to Elsecar. Using my South Yorkshire Senior Travelcard, I paid only £3.50 for my return rail journey (American $4.70). From Elsecar Station, I plodded a six mile circular route in sweet autumnal sunshine. 

The walk took me in the vicinity of Wentworth Woodhouse - a palatial mansion that is currently being restored by an army of volunteers. It was the country seat of the influential Fitzwilliam family. They were fabulously rich and in the  eighteenth century even had spare money to build several follies within sight of the grand house - such as Needle's Eye - shown above.

Close to that edifice, I passed Stump Cross Cottages that were knocked through to create one larger residence. This was the scene at the front with a compass design over the bricked up doorway and Halloween gourds on the table... 

In the estate village of Wentworth, I took pictures of two churches named Holy Trinity. Below is what remains of the old church that was superseded  in the 1870s by the bigger church in the next photo. This was funded by a member of the Fitzwilliam family - William Thomas Spencer Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, the 6th Earl Fitzwilliam. He and his wife Lady Frances had fourteen children. His vast wealth was derived almost totally from coal mining though he never raised a pickaxe himself.

Back in Elsecar, I spotted this magnificent residential building basking in the October sunshine - Fitzwilliam Lodge. It was built in the mid-nineteenth century to accommodate single men who were coal miners in the nearby pit. More recently, it has been converted into single unit apartments.

Along my way, I spotted this tantalising sign nailed to a telegraph pole and it has already given me an idea for tomorrow's hideously unpopular post. You might be able to guess what is stewing inside my thick skull...

Sisters

 

Margot and Phoebe yesterday afternoon. Sitting on the step in our kitchen drinking mugs of hot chocolate before their Sunday roast. Margot has learnt to stick her hand out like a traffic policeman as she says, "Stop it Grandpa!" Meanwhile Phoebe's ability to catch footballs has improved tremendously and she is really starting to get the hang of reading now. You should have seen her little face light up when I said, "Wow! That's amazing Phoebe. I am so proud of you!"

Sorry the picture is slightly blurry. It was a quick snapshot capturing that happy sisterly moment in the early autumn of 2025.

Meantime, I caught another train today - off on another photo walk. I will say more about that in tomorrow's blogpost. Nowadays, at Sheffield railway station, travellers are greeted by a massive image of a bottle of "Henderson's Relish" which has been produced in this city since 1885. Though perhaps similar to Worcestershire sauce, it contains no anchovies and is therefore suitable for vegans and vegetarians. I struggled to get the full picture of the bottle...

Fashion

 

Poor old  Meghan Markle (Duchess of Sussex). She came over to Europe in order to attend The Paris Fashion Week. Tragically, her luggage must have been temporarily lost in transit - but being ever resourceful, she cleverly swathed herself in hotel bed linen before attending the first event in her diary. In my humble opinion, the outfit looks kind of cool but unmistakably it's still bed linen. I hope she informed the hotel management beforehand. Apparently, the little black clutch bag contained a sausage roll and a "Mars" bar in case Meghan needed a snack while sitting next to the cat walk.

All international fashion weeks are important as they set the direction for high street fashions in the year ahead. I know that many women who visit this humble Yorkshire blog are very fashion-conscious and keen to keep up with modern trends. I doubt many of you will be engaging with Meghan's wraparound  bed sheet idea but the following Maison Alaïa outfit has appeared in Paris this year and I predict that in a few months you will all be wearing it. See how thrilled the model was to be clad in such a trailblazing combo...

Maison Alaïa helpfully explained..."Clothes move like kinetic sculpture, living, animated with pleats and drapes. Hoods conceal and reveal, framing faces like a portrait of a woman, a portrait of beauty.

Body consciousness here means a consciousness of the body, inside its dress, protective and cocooning. It is also a consciousness and reflection of femininity, clothes shaped to mirror the topography of the female form through curves and padding, through layers that act like an armour to shield.

Your body is yours."

We should all remember the wisdom of that final remark when purchasing new clothes... "Your body is yours".  I must admit that previously I never thought of my body that way.

Balm

Jennifer Boyd

A song of innocence and a song that was very much of its time. It was 1968 and the singer who wrote "Jennifer Juniper"  was Donovan Leitch. He was just twenty two years old that year and was soon to journey to The Himalayas with The Beatles in search of spiritual teaching and enlightenment. It is said that the muse for this song was Jenny Boyd, the sister of Pattie Boyd who wedded both George Harrison and Eric Clapton.

Nowadays, Donovan enjoys a quiet life deep in the Irish countryside - in County Cork. He is seventy nine years old. Not having listened to it for decades,  I heard the song in question on the radio earlier this week and decided to share it with you because of its innocent and harmonious simplicity. Given what is happening in the world right now, I  suspect we need more songs like this one - a kind of aural balm to ease the troubled  mind...

Jennifer Juniper lives upon the hill

Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still

Is she sleeping? I don't think so

Is she breathing? Yes, very low

Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

Jennifer Juniper, rides a dappled mare

Jennifer Juniper, lilacs in her hair

Is she dreaming? Yes, I think so

Is she pretty? Yes, ever so

Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

I'm thinking of what it would be like if she loved me

You know just lately this happy song it came along

And I like to somehow try and tell you

Jennifer Juniper, hair of golden flax

Jennifer Juniper longs for what she lacks

Do you like her? Yes, I do, Sir

Would you love her? Yes, I would, Sir

Whatcha doing Jennifer, my love?

Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper.

Jennifer Juniper vit sur la colline

Jennifer Juniper assise très tranquille

Dort-elle? Je ne crois pas

Respire-t-elle? Oui, mais tout bas

Qu'est-ce que tu fais, Jenny mon amour?

Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper

Jews

Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan

In the twenty years that I have been responsible for this humble Yorkshire blog, I have never written about Jews, Jewishness or Judaism. I guess it's an area that "gentiles" like me try to stay clear of - partly for fear of being labelled anti-Semitic. At times, it can seem as if only Jews are allowed to reflect upon themselves.

Growing up in my East Yorkshire village, I was entirely unaware of Judaism and no Jews lived in that village. However, at eleven that changed somewhat when I passed the eleven plus exam and gained a scholarship to the poshest school in Hull.

Every morning, the posh school had an assembly in which there were Christian prayers and hymns. That section would be followed by general school notices. 

Every morning,  I had to ride thirteen miles into Hull on a country bus and because of this I was never in the school hall at the start of the assembly so I had to wait outside with around twenty others boys who missed the first part of the assembly because they were Jewish. When the religious part finished, we would troop into the back of the hall to listen to the notices. I think this is the reason that several of my classmates tried to tease me - calling me a "yid" - a term of abuse I had never heard before. Fortunately, the teasing did not last long and it did not cause me any remembered trauma at all.

Even at the age of eleven, I had become a non-believer so though I was christened within The Church of England, in truth I had already ditched all that hocus pocus. Effectively, I was already an "atheist" though that was another word that I had previously never heard.

Please excuse my ignorance but in this modern age I wonder why more Jews don't also turn their backs on religion and become non-believers? How can it be that someone who is a native born citizen of Great Britain or The Netherlands or Canada may self-define more eagerly through their religious heritage than through their nationality? I just don't get it.

Yesterday, there was a terrible event in the Lancashire city of Manchester.  A dangerous young man of Syrian origin visited a synagogue with the intention of causing death and terror. Tragically, two Jewish men were killed and he caused injury to others before he himself was shot dead by the police.

In the news coverage that followed, I heard one Jewish woman declaring that she would now have to emigrate from this country where she was born and raised and I thought - why? This is your country as much as it is mine - why would you consider leaving it because of one murderous nutcase? So yeah - I don't really "get" several aspects of Jewishness at all. Much of it remains a mystery to me.

Am I allowed to say that in the field of arts and music, two Jewish songwriters have meant the world to me - Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. Cohen's Jewishness was apparent in many of his songs but with Bob Dylan it was always less easily detected. However, here he is in one of his less well-known numbers, singing quite bitterly in defence of the state of Israel in "Neighbourhood Bully". I should warn you that it is four minutes and eleven seconds long...

And this raises another question about Jewishness. If you were born into a Jewish family in another land - what is your relationship with the state of Israel and why do you have a relationship anyway? Why should it be more intense than a Christian's relationship with The Holy Land?

Before incriminating myself any further, I had better scuttle off back into the shadows of my ignorance. I apologise if I have unwittingly caused any offence to Jewish readers and happily invite some polite enlightenment through your comments.

Thursday

Clumber Park Caravan Site - in a sea of trees (Google Map Imagery)

Shirley and I drove to Clumber Park this morning. It is a heavily wooded area just south of the Nottinghamshire market town of Worksop. It used to be the country seat of The Dukes of Newcastle. Though the big house was pulled down in the 1930s, much of the estate remains intact - such as the ornamental lake,  the stable block and The Church of St Mary.

A quick search through my blog confirms that I have written about Clumber Park before. Go here for example.

This time we were there to meet up with my friend Tony and his wife, Pauline. They have a caravan (American: trailer) and they had driven it down from East Yorkshire for a few away days at the Clumber Park caravan and camping site.

It was a still and pleasant day in our early autumn. Two other old friends - Glyn and Jackie had become a little lost finding the site but they turned up at midday following their little driving adventure in the woods.

We sat outside under the trees and ate sandwiches, catching up with family news and reminiscing about old times.

Both Pauline and Tony have suffered health trials this year. Tony suffered a minor stroke in March and though he has made a steady recovery, he is still not quite the man he was before. After forty years as a nurse, Pauline had a knee replacement in June and has been told that she needs to have both of her hips replaced. Her back also requires surgery - fusing at least two vertebrae together in the base of her back. Her stoicism is impressive.

I guess that these are the kind of things that happen as men and women grow older. Very few people seem to reach old age without health issues and as some readers may recall, I have had my own issues with blood pressure this past year.

In fact, I  have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning. Though my daily cocktail of pills has been amended several times, my blood pressure is still too high so I expect there will be another change to the cocktail. I also had a blood test on Monday - specifically testing for Type 2 diabetes. I believe it is called the HbA1c test. It was previously discovered that I am a borderline case and that is why I stopped taking sugar in hot drinks and why I plan to begin taking weight loss reduction medication in the near future having been mysteriously refused by one well-known provider.

We were back in Sheffield long before three this afternoon - ready to pick our darling girl Phoebe up from her school. We were allowed inside her classroom and Phoebe led us round her new learning environment. She seems to have settled in very nicely. After a week she said to me, "I'm a schoolgirl now" and so she is.

At our house, the mild chili con carne I had prepared on Wednesday night was  sitting in our fridge ready for the family meal. I boiled some rice, grated some cheese and warmed up pitta breads. Then for dessert we had shop-bought sticky toffee pudding with ice cream.

Before I knew it, Thursday was almost over and I had plonked myself down in our study to tap out this scintillating account of an ordinary day in The Life of Yorkshire Pudding - aged 71 years and 359 days.

Quiztime

 

Okay... I have received the hint from quizzical visitors like Arkansas Kelly and Harpenden Frances. The day has arrived for another "Quiztime"! I can already hear the whoops of  excitement from clamouring contestants but what will be the theme this time? Actually, there is no theme today. It is a random, pot luck general knowledge quiz. As usual, the answers will be given in the comments section. Good luck!

⦿

1. What does the Japanese word さようなら (sayonara) mean?

(a) I love you (b) nice to meet you 

(c) goodbye (for a while) (d) thank you very much

2. Of which modern car company is this the logo?

3. Which pop band that rose to prominence in the late 1970s had hits with "Heart of Glass" and "The Tide is High"?

4. As this is a general knowledge quiz, we need a question about a famous general. This fellow was an American general in World War II but who was he? He died at sixty after a car accident in Germany and had a dog called Willie.

(a) General Eisenhower (b) General Patton
(c) General Ulyssess S. Grant (d) General MacArthur

5.  This burrowing rodent is native to The Horn of Africa but what is it?

(a) naked mole rat (b) hairless weasel

(c) desert land mouse (d) African sand digger

6. Can you name the family to which this flower belongs? In other words, what is it?

7. What is the name of the currency used in Vietnam?

(a) dung (b) ding (c) dang (d) dong

8. In which country will you find this enormous statue of Genghis Khan?

9. Normally, how many pages are there in  The Holy Quaran - the core text of Islam?

(a) 365 (b) 604 (c) 1111 (d) 3752

10. In which European capital city was this picture taken?

⦿

That's all folks! How did you do?

Comments

It's nice to receive comments from regular visitors to this blog and I thank you for your continuing interest and support.

People like Meike from Ludwigsburg, Germany; Keith from Red Deer, Canada; Jennifer from South Carolina and Steve from West London almost seem like family to me. My association with them goes way back in time and of course they produce their own blogs which I keep visiting through the months and years.

You just need to look at my sidebar to get an idea of my blog orbit. In recent years, new favourites have emerged such as Bob Slatten's "I Should Be Laughing", Bruce Springsteen's Taylor's "Oddball Observations", JayCee Manx's "Nobody's Diary" and David Godfrey's "Travel Penguin". In blogging, nothing ever seems to be permanently fixed. As in life, you have to move on. No sense in always wallowing in the past.

I like the fact that some of my regular visitors do not actually produce blogs of their own. That doesn't really matter. Here I am thinking about people like Carol in Spain (Coppa's Girl), Ellen in Illinois and Traveller from I know not where. Thank you for coming here. I hesitate but I would like to use the term: friends. Yes, friends.

Occasionally, commenters will breeze in leave one or two comments and then disappear for good. Perhaps that will be the case with someone called "P.Wright". He appeared for the first time in relation to a post I published on September 14th.  It was about the Reform Party rally in London and the appearance of Elon Musk on big screens. I titled this post "Terrorist". "P.Wright" has only attracted ten page views and does not have his own blog. This is what he wrote:-

"A typical left wing post. You can't stand anyone that doesn't agree with your narrative. You crap on about 26 injured police but fail to mention that there were only 25 arrests. How many arrests were there at the Nottingham carnival?? Way more. You are just so full of hate for anyone that doesn't follow the lefties narrative it's sickening. We are all entitled to our opinions and l respect yours but there is no need for all the hate that comes from the left."

Little details in this comment caused me to deduce that it was posted in America and possibly by a Trump-MAGA supporter.  For example, he uses the expression, "Way more!" which is known in Great Britain but is not in common use. Also the pejorative term "lefties" is hackneyed in my country and rarely used these days but has traction with the American right. He also refers to the "Nottingham Carnival" when I am sure he meant the "Notting Hill Carnival". British people would not make that error.

Perhaps it was Elon Musk in disguise. The sentiments contained in the comment are certainly Muskian or Muskish and I must say quite disturbing. Clearly, "P.Wright" doesn't know me at all.  Unlike Julius Caesar who came, conquered and went, "P.Wright" came, defecated and disappeared. Anyway, if you are reading this "P.Wright" you are not welcome here and I am sorry to say that any future comments you make on this blog will not be published.

Nadir

 

Perhaps this is the nadir, maybe not but can the current U.S. president really sink any lower?

Along the wall of a colonnade in The White House, portraits of past presidents have been put up going right back in time. Only, one of the portraits is missing. Instead of Joe Biden, America's 46th president, there is instead a picture of an autopen.

The current president and his minions have made a big deal of the fact that Joe Biden sometimes had his presidential signature written with the aid of a computerised autopen - instead of by hand. The ironic truth is that the 47th president has also used an autopen on many occasions to sign documents so why has he made a big song and dance about this matter? After all, he has done just the same.

President Biden was fairly and legitimately elected to office by the American people. He served his country well and made many beneficial decisions and choices. What is more, in spite of the fact that age began to catch up with him, he conducted himself with dignity and a healthy measure of humility. He is and was a decent man, a listener and a true patriot. At least - that is how it appears to me.

Not putting his picture up and instead unveiling the framed image of an autopen is unfair and unfunny. It disrespects all those who voted  for Mr Biden in November 2020 and it disrespects American history. You might not have agreed with him and you yourself might even wear a red Republican cap but Joe Biden was the president. He wore that mantle with pride.

Rather than the autopen, the equivalent for the current incumbent might be a jar of orange foundation cream or a golf club and ball to represent all the many times he has been A.W.O.L. on private golfing breaks during his presidency. But pursuing that notion would surely be juvenile and petty - sinking right down  to the current president's level.

So yes - this could easily be the absolute pits - the nadir but I have a sneaking suspicion that Mad Donald might go even lower - such is his terrible vindictiveness and his apparent inability to simply let things go and move on.

Skote

 

Skote? Well I have no clear idea what that word means but I suspect that it is an informal term of endearment from Newfoundland, Canada. I came across it this past week when I found myself being drawn into a YouTube channel called "Skote Outdoors".

Who are the two skotes pictured at the top of this blogpost? Why they are Matty and Kelly Clarke, the creators and stars of the YouTube channel. Let me tell you a little about them and their vlog.

Matty was originally from Newfoundland and Kelly was from Virginia, USA. They met over the internet and immediately Kelly determined that Matty was the man she was going to marry - even before they had met in person.

For a nominal fee, Matty bought an abandoned wooden house on the island of St Joseph's in Placentia Bay to the south of Newfoundland. It was in a sorry state without running water or electricity and there was plenty of rotten wood too.

They set about restoring the house and making it into a proper home. The project has been greatly assisted by Matty's  practical skills and "can do" attitude. Kelly has often acted as his labourer. She is always upbeat, supportive and uncomplaining.

I watched as they installed solar panels on the hill above the old house and also how they found a way of piping water from that same hill - from a pond that their neighbour helped them to excavate.

Have you ever wondered what it might be like to live "off grid" in Nature, pretty much free to do your own thing? If you have, "Skote Outdoors" might well be the answer to your curiosity. Why not check it out? You don't need to investigate every video they have uploaded but you might wish to step a few months back in time. 

I have found it all pretty uplifting and a healthy reminder that people can be self-reliant  and happy without allowing the news of the world to press our faces into the proverbial mud. Earlier this very day, Matty and Kelly had great news to share. She's pregnant! So hopefully in about eight months time,  there'll be a new tiny character in the videos.

If you have some idle time, please check "Skote Outdoors"  out.

Watch

Home again

Are you sitting comfortably? Let me tell you the story of my Mondaine wristwatch.

It was given to me fifteen years ago by my immediate family. It suited me from the first second it ticked. A simple, easily-read face with no distractions like a date dial or the time in Tokyo. An elegant, unfussy watch that tells the time accurately.

Every two years its battery runs out and I need to have a new one put in by someone who knows what they are doing. For the past ten years, I have gone to a jeweller's shop down the road from us at Hunter's Bar and in all that time nobody else has interfered with the watch. Normally it's a half hour job. I drop the watch off, toddle off for a drink or some lunch and then pick it up a bit later - job done.

At the start of July, this summer gone, the watch had stopped ticking again so I went to the jewellers and as usual I was asked to come back in half an hour. However, when I returned, the friendly middle-aged woman who was doing the job said there was a problem. She couldn't get all the tiny screws out and two of them just kept turning round.

"Where did you last have a new battery fitted?" she said.

"Here," I replied. "And it was you who did it!"

"Well. Something's gone wrong and we're going to have to send it off to our watch specialist."

"How long is that going to take?"

"Three to four weeks."

"What? That seems like a long time just to get a new battery but okay I will go with it."

"First, he will have to tell us if he can actually do the job."

Anyway, four weeks later, at the very end of July, the shop phoned me back to tell me that their specialist could indeed do the job and did I wish to proceed? What? Of course I wanted to proceed. I asked how long it would take and the woman at the other end of the line said "three to four weeks... if the specialist can source the required screws".

At the end of August I phoned them back to say, "Where's my watch?" 

They said, "Oh it takes six to eight weeks. We weren't expecting it back yet!"

Meantime up at the pub quiz, my friend Mick was advising me to play hell with them and demand my watch back but I explained that I just didn't want the aggro. If I lost my rag with them, I knew that I would regret it and the resulting scene would play out over and over again in my mind. Experience can be a great teacher. Better to stay calm and patient, eventually get my watch back and then never visit the jeweller's shop ever again.

This morning, the long awaited phone call happened. The sloth-like specialist had finally returned my watch and I could pick it up - almost three months after  I had taken it in. Oh joy of joys! Ring the church bells! Beat the drums! Christ is risen! 

I strolled down the hill to Hunter's Bar and as I told the smiley woman behind the counter, it felt like reuniting with an old friend. Hello Mondaine - how have you been? I have missed you mate!

There might have been an argument that the jeweller's shop should have paid for the service since the issue with the tiny screws was probably caused by them but I just did not want the hassle. I paid up and left with no intention of ever going in there again. It has been quite a saga, I can tell you.

AI

 

Captain's Log - Stardate September 26th 2025

Still trawling The Ocean of Data. There are rich pickings out here. Every day we haul up huge tons of the stuff and transfer it to "Gorgon" - the mother ship. The job seems endless.

We have just entered The Sea of Bloggo off the coast of Narnia where the shoals are known to be particularly abundant. Data seethes just below the surface, squirming and thrashing and sometimes bursting into the sunshine like multitudes of silvery flying fish. I have never seen anything like it.

We are well-paid by Nvidia but the company's hunger for freshly caught data seems unquenchable. Every day they want - more, more, more.

It appears that the more data that is poured into the central processing plant in Santa Clara, the more accurate, visionary and ironclad their outcomes and proposals will become.

This is about changing the world folks and I'm all for that but sometimes I look back to the lazy days when we chugged out of Grimsby struggling to find cod fish off the coast of Norway or Shetland.  On a calm, starlit night with sea anchor operational, the crew would gather in the galley and fuelled with tumblers of Jamaican rum sing...

"Old McDonald had a ship

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!

And on that ship he had a monster

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!

With a gobble gooble here

And a gobble gobble there

Here a gobble there a gobble

Everywhere a gooble gobble

Old McDonald had a ship

Ay-eye, ay-eye - No!"

⦿

It was our Frances's thirty-seventh birthday today and we enjoyed brunch with her at "Carrie's" on Ecclesall Road. Her best friend Charlotte was there with her youngest boy Milo - who is in Margot's class at nursery school. Years ago Frances and Charlotte were also in the very same class at nursery school. Their bond of friendship is very strong. They even went to the same university. The brunch was excellent and Margot and Milo were excited to see the passing buses and lorries on the road below.

Loafing

If Young Steve down in London can plonk flower pictures at the top of his blogposts then so can I. The blooms shown above are American prairie flowers. I believe that this one belongs to the silphium family. The picture was taken this very morning as I was strolling through Sheffield Botanical Gardens.

It's a lovely nineteen acre city park, containing plants and trees from all over the world. It enjoys the practical support of a squadron of local volunteers and is a popular green oasis for dozens of skittish American grey squirrels.

Opened in the 1830s, our Botanical Gardens once housed a menagerie. The park also had a bearpit but living bears are no longer displayed there. Instead, there's just a rusty mild steel bear called Robert, created by David Mayne and installed in 2005 in memory of the poor creatures that were once chained there. In spite of facial similarities there is absolutely no connection between our Robert The Bear and Robert Slatten or Robert Brague - two notorious US bloggers from South Carolina and Georgia respectively. Though they both like to hibernate in winter, neither of them are actual bears.

Below, The Botanical Gardens feature these fine Victorian glasshouses designed by Benjamin Broomhead Taylor...

The pesky squirrels are hard to photograph as they spring about but I tried to capture a few images of them today, including this one...

On the way home to start preparing tonight's beef stew, I decided to take a short detour via Wiseton Road. There, the former St Augustine's Church Hall was renamed Wiseton Court about fifty years ago after it had been remodelled to create several one bedroom apartments. Before our marriage, Shirley and I rented Flat One for eighteen months. It was our first home together and they were very happy days - loving and being loved. In the course of a lifetime, that kind of magic does not happen for everyone.

Presenters

Alice Roberts - "Digging for Britain" presenter

It wasn't always like this, I swear. Nowadays the people who are chosen to present television  and radio programmes greatly influence whether or not I will watch or listen to a particular programme.

I have always enjoyed documentary-style programmes that transport viewers to interesting places. Maybe there will be a bit of history thrown in too. "Great Railway Journeys" should entirely be my cup of tea but I have never watched it simply because it is presented by the supercilious former Tory MP, Michael Portillo. His smugness is as cringe-worthy as his pomposity.

I feel comfortable with authentic presenters who are passionate about their subjects and are not fuelled by their egos - people like Chris Packham and David Attenborough who focus principally on the natural world. Another presenter I like is Professor Alice Roberts who brings authority and an easygoing personal style to her archaeological wanderings in "Digging for Britain".

Reading the weather and telling us what to expect should be a straightforward, functional role but there are some weather presenters who really get my goat. On the one hand you have Chris Fawkes - charming, professionally dressed and capable of delivering weather news succinctly. On the other hand, there's Tomasz Schafernaker who seems to be on a perpetual ego trip with his laconic style and odd, inappropriate clothing choices. It's not all about you Tomasz! You are only there to tell us about the weather my friend.

Most mornings I reach over to our faithful and now vintage Sony radio alarm clock without even opening my eyes. I press the button that brings on "The Today Show" on BBC Radio 4 - a news and current affairs programme that runs from six to nine every weekday morning. This was once the territory of the great John Humphrys who brought intelligence and clarity to his interviewing style. In contrast, nowadays we often have to tolerate Emma Barnett and Nick Robinson who don't really listen to their interviewees and have an annoying habit of interrupting even as their questions are being answered. They could learn a lot from their co-presenter Justin Webb who is almost as brilliant as John Humphrys was in the past.

Perhaps it is an age thing or maybe it is just me but I feel that good presenters are worth their weight in gold - whereas ego-tripping bad presenters are a huge turn off. Thinking about the presenters you encounter who do you think deserves floral tributes and who should get booby prizes?

Bolton

Disused railway bridge on Barnburgh Lane

Yesterday, I caught a train to a large village called Bolton-upon-Dearne. It is located north of Rotherham between Swinton and Goldthorpe in an area that was the beating heart of the South Yorkshire coalfield. As each year passes, that proud industry of yore becomes more and more like a distant memory. Even the landscape is concealing what once was.

It was a lovely afternoon. I had a planned walk to undertake while at the same time bagging four more 1km map squares for The Geograph Project - adding to the 18,602 images I had already submitted. To tell you the truth, I was feeling a little unwell so I had deliberately plotted a sensible distance of around 3.5 miles before returning to Bolton-upon-Dearne's railway station in time for the 16.32 train home.

Bolton Brickyard Ponds

I met a man with a bulldog. It had a head as big as a large cauliflower. It was his daughter's dog. It tried to hump my leg which I found most disagreeable. The man had been a coalminer in the area right up to 1986 and had fond memories of the camaraderie, still bitter about what Margaret Thatcher did to them.  In nearby Goldthorpe, on the night that Thatcher died in 2013, the people made an effigy of her and placed it on a bonfire before partying till midnight. The British establishment were appalled.

I walked to the edge of Goldthorpe then followed Barnburgh Lane to Westfield Lane, passing under a disused railway bridge that once carried coal wagons to power stations. Then south through the woods to The River Dearne. In that valley they have created a nature reserve in recent years, flooding former farmland. It is now a bird sanctuary overseen by the RSPB (Royal Society for The Protection of Birds).

Teasels at Adwick Wetland Nature Reserve

Then along Lowfield Road and back to the station with forty five minutes to spare. I sat in the sunshine, reading the first chapter of "Entangled Lives" by Merlin Sheldrake - you may remember that I found this book hidden in a wall two weeks ago. It concerns an area of knowledge that is very important but still very much incomplete - fungi.  Their underground relationships with tree roots and other plants are quite mind-boggling.

Oh and by the way, the train home arrived bang on time.

A bedroom window on Lowfield Road

Childless

 

A fairly recent but innocuous event has stuck in my mind and I have kept coming back to it.

It was about a month ago. I was in the "Atkinsons" department store at the bottom of The Moor. I had gone in there specially to replace my aftershave lotion. My supply of "Old Spice" was running very low. As it happens, that preferred brand was not on display and may never be again so I picked another reasonably priced alternative called "Musk". Fortunately, it has no connection with Elon Musk.

As I was selecting my purchase, I heard the continuous screaming of a small child in a pushchair. It went on and on and when I reached the pay counter, the din continued. Behind the counter was a plump, bespectacled female shop assistant - about forty five years old. Our conversation went something like this...

ME I wish somebody would shut that child up!

ASSISTANT Me too. I've been watching the mother and she hasn't done a thing to quieten it.

ME It's not good to let a child get really distressed like that.

ASSISTANT I agree but what do I know about raising children?

ME What do you mean?

ASSISTANT Well I'm not a mother. I don't have any children.

ME Did you want to be a mother?

ASSISTANT With all my heart. It's the biggest regret of my life.

ME What happened?

ASSISTANT Well I needed a partner of course and it just didn't work out for me.

ME Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

ASSISTANT I was engaged to be married and the wedding was all planned but I broke it off a week before. As my granddad said, he was a wrong 'un. He was drinking too much and sometimes he got really nasty.

ME Did he hit you?

ASSISTANT Once he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me into the bedroom. I was screaming at him to stop. I know I made the right choice... to end it I mean. But I would have loved to have a baby. I think I would have made a great mother. Now all I have got is my sister's kids. A boy and a girl and I love them to bits.

ME I suspect you would have made a good mother... Life can be so cruel. Often things don't work out the way we want them to... Anyway, it's been nice to meet you and thanks for sharing those private thoughts. 

ASSISTANT Thanks for listening. Bye.

ME Bye.

I left the store feeling desperately sorry for that woman. It's one thing deciding you never want to have children but it's another thing being childless when your maternal instinct is strong and when becoming a mother seems key to your very existence. I imagined her getting old and that yawning gap in her life remaining painful to the very end. So sad.

Patties

Driving home in the pouring rain. The windscreen wipers are in overdrive. The road surface ahead is awash and the white lines upon it have become invisible. My concentration dial has been turned to full  and the speedometer is down to fifty, sometimes lower. I have heard about aqua-planing and have no intention of experiencing it on this sixty mile motorway journey.

Meantime, a few idiots zoom past or even undertake as though there was no rain at all. They threaten other people's lives in such dangerous driving conditions.

Radio 5 Live is broadcasting a football match commentary - Manchester United versus Chelsea. Even there, seventy miles west, the rain is lashing down. How many gallons must have fallen on the north of England? Millions of them - topping up the streams, the rivers and the reservoirs. A modicum of blessed relief after the driest summer on record.

In the late morning, I had driven over to Hull to see my beloved Tigers in person for the first time this season. First of all, I parked Butch at the Priory Park park and ride facility to the west of the city. Then I rode to the stadium aboard a double decker bus, sitting at the front of the top deck for views of the twenty minute urban journey. But I was looking through a curtain of rain.

I alighted at the bus stop on the edge of West Park feeling lunchtime hunger pangs. So instead of heading straight for the stadium, I instead visited the "Admiral" fish and chip shop on Anlaby Road where I purchased two patties doused in salt and vinegar.  I consumed them in a bus shelter because of the falling rain.

At this juncture, you may be wondering - What on earth is a "patty"? Well let me explain that it is a staple option in most fish and chip shops in the East Riding of Yorkshire. I have never seen them for sale in Sheffield or Leeds.

A patty is round - about 3.5 inches across and about 1.5 inches thick. It is made from  mashed potato seasoned with sage and onion. Then it is dipped in a batter mixture before being deep-fried. Perhaps not the healthiest option but a couple of patties really hit the spot when you are standing in a bus shelter  in the pouring rain ahead of an English Championship match - Hull City v. Southampton F.C..

By the way, our boys won quite convincingly by three goals to one. I witnessed this victory with 22,084 other people - the majority of whom went home happy.

Riding back on the packed park and ride bus, I observed how pleasant and civilised the atmosphere was. Nobody was shouting or playing music or causing annoyance to others. We were just a hundred quiet people in the early evening - riding back to Priory Park in heavy traffic as rain continued to teem down.

Quiztime

Good day quizzers! It's time for another exciting edition of "QUIZTIME" with me your genial host, Rapscallion Bonkers. Today's theme is silhouettes and there's an exciting mixture of maps, places, animals etc. - why there's even a popstar (deceased)! As usual, the answers will be provided in the comments section. Let the fun begin!

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1.
Moose and maple syrup

2,

Garlic, frogs and can-can dancers

3.

They say it's gay.

4.

All shook up

5.

Not Frida Kahlo

6.

An American city

7.

Hungry

8.

Small island  nation off the coast of New Guinea

9.

We will fight them on the beaches

10.

Sting in the tail

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That's all folks! How did you do?