Politics

Pudding Party  General Secretary  Grace Honeyman at the recent rally in Sheffield

A new political party has just been launched in Great Britain. It has been under construction for several months but now the curtain has been flung back to reveal The Pudding Party. Surely this will be the answer to all the disenchantment with politics, to dismissive electors who refuse to vote or simply cannot be bothered, to dumb moaning minnies who grumble "They're all the same!", to Nigel Farage and the Nazi Party Reform Party, to Zack Polanski and The Eat-Your-Greens.

Arise The Puddings! Your time has come... But every political party needs policies and The Pudding Party currently has just five headline policies to attract voters to our noble cause.

1) It will be the law that when it is your birthday you are entitled to an extra day off work or school. Retired people  will receive free bags of frozen Yorkshire puddings.

2) All vaping retail outlets will be shut down and vaping in any public places will be outlawed - attracting hefty fines, short prison sentences or flogging.

3) The voting records of American visitors to Great Britain to be carefully checked before entry decisions are made. Any visitors found guilty of voting for Donald J. Trump to be sent back in disgrace - without leave for appeal.

4) Poetry appreciation, artistic creativity, music making, pottery and Nature to become the lead subjects in every school curriculum. Mathematics to be resigned to history  as all number work can now happen on electronic calculators.

5) Desperate homeless people will be bussed to large second homes around the country that happen to remain empty most of the year - such as Sandringham House in Norfolk. There they will live comfortably with the cost of food and other basic needs met by the millionaire and billionaire classes who will unfortunately have no choice in the matter.

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Of course The Pudding Party has numerous other policies in the pipeline and naturally  there is the important issue of how handsomely the leader of The Pudding Party will be rewarded for his wise representation.

As yet, we have no idea who that leader will be but he could well be the bloke I sometimes see in the mirror. The one who regularly looks back at me as if to say, "What's it all about...Alfie?"

If you are interested in joining The Pudding Party you must first suggest  one extra policy that the party should seriously consider adopting.

Blonde

Just in case you were wondering, Jesus was a blonde. This fact was confirmed when I visited Christ Church yesterday - in the affluent Sheffield suburb of Dore. There was Jesus in a stained glass window looking very holy and as blonde as many Scandinavians. It made me wonder - did Jesus come from Denmark?

To tell you the truth, I do not think about Jesus very often and I have certainly never asked him to come into my life or anything like that. To me, he's just a heroic character in a story that may or may not have had its seed in long ago happenings during the Roman occupation of Palestine. That tale was later embellished by storytellers, medieval monks and others with vested interests in perpetuating the Jesus legend - including The Romans.

In Egypt, a civilisation flourished for two thousand years before Jesus was allegedly born in Bethlehem. How did they cope without his presence? The same over in China - five thousand years of civilisation before so-called missionaries arrived with the tale of Jesus. And then there were the Aztecs, the Incas, the Khmers, ancient cultures on the Indian subcontinent. All of them seem to have evolved and thrived without the Christian God and his only begotten son. How did they do that?

I looked up to The Blonde Jesus in Dore church and asked for explanation and enlightenment but Blonde Jesus never answered me. If the truth be known, he never does respond. It's all just imagining and wishful thinking.

I am sorry if this blogpost has offended any Christian believers and practitioners who visit this humble Yorkshire  blog. I know that there are a few of you out there. Were you aware that Jesus was a blonde and not a swarthy, dark-haired middle-easterner?  

Baksheesh

Baksheesh (or bakshish) refers to small sums of money, tips, or gratuities given in the Middle East, South Asia, and North Africa. Originating from Persian, it covers a range of payments from legitimate tipping for services (guides, hotel staff) to small bribes or "sweeteners" used to expedite services, bureaucracy, or provide alms. (Thanks to The University of Google for this definition)

Of course I knew about the phenomenon of baksheesh long before visiting Egypt. Over there it seemed that every Egyptian you encountered was after a tip or backhander. I guess it is an endemic feature of their culture.

When we visited The Aswan Museum on Elephantine Island, I paid for two entrance tickets. To tell you the truth, I do not think we were given official tickets and suspect that the fellow at the gate had a little fraud game going on - depriving the museum of much needed funds.

Once we were in, another  Egyptian man just latched onto us to guide us around the small museum. He never asked or anything and I found his presence quite irritating because it interfered with my reading of the explanatory labels. There were some mind-blowing exhibits from ancient times at a place that connected ancient Egypt with the Nubian region and Sudan to the south.

Obviously, our "helpful" guide was after some Egyptian pounds so I generously gave him £50 - the equivalent of about 70 British pence or one American dollar. He looked at this offering as if I had just put a sheet of used toilet paper on his palm but in spite of his discourteous grumbling, he was not getting any more from me.

The museum is right next to a gate that leads you into the site of The Temple of Khnum who was the "Lord of the First Cataract" and considered to be the creator of humanity, moulding souls on a potter's wheel. The temple served as the centre for his worship.It is now a ruinous site that has been investigated by various teams of German and Swiss archaeologists.

Annoyingly, at the gate, another Egyptian fellow latched himself onto us with one prime motive - money! To give him his due, he did take me to The Nileometer which I might otherwise have had trouble finding. I even took a picture of him with Shirley - standing at a timeless gateway that overlooks "the first cataract" of The Nile...

Sure enough when our little temple tour was over and I had just ascended the very ancient stone steps of The Nileometer, our friendly guide expected his baksheesh. Feeling especially generous, I gave him £100 Egyptian this time but like his pal at the museum, he looked at my offering as if it was mucky toilet tissue. The well-practised disdain made me want to laugh out loud and there was no way he was getting any more.

Our on-board educated Egyptologist Ayman was looking for baksheesh like all the rest. Staff inside temples. Men within the tombs at The Valley of the Kings. Our room cleaners, security guards, shopkeepers from whom you had just made purchases. 

And linked to the baksheesh phenomenon, I would also like to share this about Egypt. Shopping there can be nightmarish to westerners because there are no prices on anything. It's all about negotiation - arriving at an agreed price but of course Egyptian traders are very well-versed in the art of price negotiation. It is in their bones - passed through generations. Here in Yorkshire we simply never play that game.

Once or twice, I found the haggling process to be great fun but Shirley seemed horrified by it all. At one Aladdin's cave inside the souk in Luxor she would not even step inside as I jousted with the shopkeeper before buying a carved stone statuette of three monkeys - hear no evil, say no evil, speak

no evil.

How I had previously lived without this remarkable object beside me in my study I shall never know...

Quiztime

All rightie my little lambkins, it's time for another exciting edition of "Quiztime" with your genial host Yorrrrrrkshire Pudding! (Loud applause and wolf whistling). Today's quiz asks you to consider some quotations and decide who said them. I already admit that some will be tricky and others easy but please don't try to quieten your frustration by smashing your computer device. These things cost a lot of money. Answers will be provided in the comments section.

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1. Which American president said, "A great leader is one who serves others, not himself"?

(a) Donald J. Trump (b) Jimmy Carter (c) Richard Nixon (d) Bill Clinton

2. Which American president said, "I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you're a star they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."?

(a) Donald J. Trump (b) George Washington 

(c) Abraham Lincoln (d) Franklin D. Roosevelt

3. Which famous pop star and songwriter said, "We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first—rock ’n’ roll or Christianity"?

(a) Mick Jagger (b) Mickey Dolenz (c) John Lennon (d) Jon Bon Jovi

4. Which famous woman said, "The upward course of a nation's history is due in the long run to the soundness of heart of its average men and women."

(a) Giorgia Meloni (b) Jane Austen (c) Hillary Clinton (d) Queen Elizabeth II

5. Which cartoon character said, "You ate my homework? I didn't know dogs really did that"?

(a) Yogi Bear (b) Popeye (c) Bart Simpson (d) Superman

6. Which historical figure said this, "I don’t see much future for the Americans … it’s a decayed country. And they have their racial problem, and the problem of social inequalities … everything about the behaviour of American society reveals that it’s half Judaised, and the other half negrified. How can one expect a State like that to hold together?"

(a) Mahatma Gandhi (b) Julius Caesar 

(c) Winston Churchill (d) Adolf Hitler

7. Which writer said this, "Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance."?

(a) Jean-Paul Sartre (b) Louisa May Alcott 

(c) Agatha Christie (d) Hans Christian Andersen

8. Which comedy legend said, "I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception."?

(a) Robin Williams (b) Ken Dodd (c) Groucho Marx (d) Richard Pryor

9. Which spouse of a political leader said, ""I do not have 3,000 pairs of shoes, I have 1,060"?

(a) Michele Obama (b) Brigitte Macron 

(c) Denis Thatcher (d) Imelda Marcos

10. Which political leader said, "Maybe they have nothing else to do in America but to talk about me"?

(a) Boris Johnson (b) Vladimir Putin 

(c) Volodymyr Zelenskyy (d) Nelson Mandela

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That's all folks! How did you do?

Cuddy

Cuddy is a nickname - the pet name of Saint Cuthbert who is the patron saint of Northumbria - an ancient kingdom that existed here on this island long before anyone dreamed of a country called England. Cuddy was buried in Durham Cathedral or maybe what I should say is that that great cathedral grew up because Cuthbert was buried there.

Some of you may recall that I was in Durham in January and walked from an outlying village into the heart of the historic city, primarily to visit the cathedral. And there I took a photo of the great slab of stone under which Cuddy's mortal remains still rest...

Before travelling to Egypt I bought a book called "Cuddy" by Benjamin Myers. I had read two of his earlier novels and very much enjoyed them so I expected that "Cuddy" would keep me happily entertained on the Nile river boat and on board the plane home. Of course I knew that Saint Cuthbert would be the book's main focus. That idea was fine by me.

Trouble was that when I began to read "Cuddy" I found the experience both frustrating  and irritating. It did not begin like any "normal" novel. There were several pages of quotations about Saint Cuthbert from a range of sources. And then there was a strange bittiness about the pages that followed - strange fragments, mutterings, pieces of poetry. Oh no! - I thought - this is not for me. So I put the book down thinking - some you win, some you don't. 

However, I had really enjoyed both "The Gallows Pole" and "The Offing" so for the five hour flight home from Luxor, I decided to give "Cuddy" another try. This time I knew what to expect and if I could battle through the early pages again perhaps I would be rewarded in the end.

Shirley had the window seat and a fidgety gentleman from Northern Ireland with a galling monotone voice had the aisle seat. I was trapped in the middle like a slice of corned beef in a sandwich. And so I began "Cuddy" again.

After fifty pages I was hooked.

After the prologue, the novel, if indeed you can call it a novel,  contains five separate movements including four  "books". They take us from AD995 to "The Daft Lad" in 2019. And throughout you feel the quiet presence of Saint Cuthbert - Cuddy.

The research that Benjamin Myers undertook to shore up what is effectively and ode to a legend, was both long and thorough - almost like building a great cathedral with printed words rather than quarried stone.

In the end I loved this book. I turned the pages with glee rather than duty and I was kind of sad to reach the last word which was "Leaves".

Here's another quotation from "Cuddy" just to give you a small flavour of the writing...

But then I awoke suddenly, stirred by what I perceived to be the sound of voices. When I opened my eyes …, I heard nothing but somehow felt quite certain of those voices – the echoes of whispered voices I should say – were still about the place. The whispers were words from a vocabulary I did not understand, a bastard tongue that appeared to make sense to the unseen speakers, but not to me, your impartial witness.

Stither.

Ungred.

Eedmah...

This comes from "The Corpse in the Cathedral" section in which a Cambridge academic, Professor Forbes Fawcett-Black, has been invited up to Durham to witness the exhumation  of Saint Cuthbert's remains. The year was 1827 and the grisly episode is based on real events.

There was lots of physicality in the telling of "Cuddy". Cold and hunger, sex and torture, blood and guts but never were these features gratuitous. They served the novel's broader aims. It was a real tour de force, an ambitious novel that pushed Benjamin Myers to the very limits of his artistic capabilities. Obviously, this book would not be for everybody but to me it was revelatory - rather like Saint Cuthbert himself. I am so glad that I gave it a second try.

Scarabs

Valley of the Kings

Of course, I knew of the significance of scarab beetles in ancient Egyptian culture before visiting the country. I had read that these humble insects symbolised rebirth, protection and the eternal cycle of life. When scarab beetles rolled balls of dung in the morning, it was as if they were rolling out the golden orb itself so they were connected with the sun god Ra.

Visiting tombs and temples in The Nile Valley I was drawn to several images of scarab beetles in the hieroglyphs and stone carvings. It seemed that when you looked they were everywhere - venerated and yet one of the humblest creatures of all.

As a souvenir gift for Phoebe I picked a golden scarab ornament that she could place on her window ledge. Maybe one day - when she is learning about Egypt at school - she will remember to take her special beetle in for other children to see.

And I bought myself a carved stone scarab beetle from Hopi's shop on the waterfront at Luxor. He had several very old ones in a dusty glass cabinet but this was the one I picked after knocking him down from one thousand Egyptian pounds to six hundred. That is about nine British pounds or $12US. There were many cheaper scarabs in the shop but I wanted to rescue this particular one. It was calling to me.

And now he sits on my desk. A lovely reminder of a lovely holiday in an awesome land.

Temple of Khnum,  Elephantine Island, Aswan

Perhaps you were wondering, "Do scarab beetles still exist?" And if so, I am happy to reassure you that they are certainly still with us. In fact there are 35,000 known types of beetle within the scarab family. The particular beetle that the Egyptians revered was the "scarabaeus sacer" or sacred scarab. I hope you are not eating right now...

Triumph

Piggy

A small crowd of British schoolboys find themselves on a deserted tropical island. It is a little unclear how they got there. Perhaps there has been a plane crash. At first it all seems like a spiffing adventure from "The Boy's Own Paper" but it isn't very long before a kind of dark collective madness emerges.

This is the core plot of "Lord of the Flies" by William Golding. It was his first novel. He wrote it in the early nineteen fifties with his wartime naval experiences fresh in his mind. He commanded a landing craft during the invasion of Normandy. The book was also a deliberate riposte to "The Coral Island" by R.M.Ballantyne (1857).

Ralph

I first read "Lord of the Flies" in the summer of 1966 when I was twelve years old - the same age as the lead characters in the novel - Ralph, Jack, Piggy and Simon. It brought me to the sudden realisation that fiction could be much more than just story-telling. It could arrest you. It could have underlying meanings. There could be symbolism and artistic ambition and language could be crafted to create both beauty and horror.

In short, it wowed me as no other book had done before. And I am convinced that that powerful early reading experience  played a big part in determining my academic career and the paid work that stemmed from my education. Pursuing English Literature at university led to me becoming an English teacher.

So yes - "Lord of the Flies" has always been seminal in my memory. Consequently, I was very curious about the BBC TV version of the novel that was screened in four parts last month. Frankly, I expected to be underwhelmed. 

Simon

Filmed in Malaysia in the summer of 2024, the BBC version was directed by Marc Munden with a script devised by Jack Thorne. It was a huge team effort and there was passionate commitment to the project by all the talented specialists who had been signed up. In addition, the boys who played the main parts were very well chosen. Some of them had had no previous experience of acting.

There were four episodic "movements" in the show titled "Piggy", "Jack", "Simon" and Ralph".

The disturbing make-up, the often jarring music, the cinematography and the attention to detail impressed me greatly. These elements really lifted the drama. It wasn't as if Marc Munden and Jack Thorne were trying to faithfully replicate Golding's novel on screen but they were aiming to be entirely true to his vision, understanding deeply what this famous book was all about. They brought out the darkness, the terror and ultimately the sense of hope.

I thought it was terrific.

Jack

Tribute

 The Friday Funnies

In memory of Bruce Taylor...

Bruce would always end his "Friday Funnies" posts with a "Star Trek" quip followed by a cat "funny"...

And always remember to keep laughing!!!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

Farewell

 

Bruce Taylor (1940-2026)

Fellow blogger Bruce died on Tuesday night. Though he hailed from North Dakota, he lived in Arizona with his beloved wife Judy. Sadly, Judy died on January 4th.

I imagine that the true character of a blogger filters through in their blogposts and Bruce came across as light-hearted and kind. He was a guy whose glass was half full, trying to see the good in things, in people, in situations.

His "Friday Funnies" posts were legendary. Every week he gathered together amusing cartoons and memes that revealed many of the silly aspects of being human. Those "funnies" were never bitter or political in nature, just cheeky and light like Bruce himself.

Once, Bruce referred to his battered old English beermat (American: coaster)  that he had pinched from a London pub in the eighties. It sat next to his computer and had probably become a health hazard. So I sent him two replacement English beermats. One was from my daughter's wedding and the other was produced by a famous Yorkshire brewery called "Timothy Taylor's".

I thought he would appreciate the Taylor reference. Coincidentally, his nephew in The Pacific Northwest happens to be called Timothy Taylor so Bruce sent that beermat on to him instead. In return, Bruce sent me a parcel containing about half a pound of random foreign coins. Judy was not impressed when she heard about the postage cost!

In 2022, I created a blogpost about my Google Streetview visit to Stanley in North Dakota. This small settlement was Bruce's home town. Of course the place was in his bones but he never longed to go back there. He appreciated the post though and in his comment wrote, "Wow! What a surprise! The red brick building in the third picture is the former Presbyterian Church that I spent many hours in as a youngster. It's long since become a cultural center and concert site after the population dipped. There were only about 1,100 people there when I grew up so you can see what the second oil "boom" has done. I also spent many hours in the old Mountrail County Promoter headquarters, which was in a dark and dingy basement with a huge, noisy linotype machine. And my "ancestral home" was a few blocks south, also on Main Street. Thanks for this, Professor. I, myself, hadn't looked at this site in years."

Now that he is dead, maybe Bruce has returned to Stanley. Where ever he has gone, we all know that he has simply departed before us and we shall follow after... over the hills and faraway.  Let us think of him every Friday and smile. Farewell Bruce and thank you for being you.

Horny

Something was growing on my left temple. Granddaughter Phoebe asked several times what it was. I told her it was a rice krispie but it was actually a cutaneous horn. It was probably connected with historical skin damage resulting from too much exposure to the sun.

In 61% of cases, cutaneous horns are benign and nothing to fret about but in a minority of instances they may have malignant, cancerous undertones.

Anyway, about six weeks ago I was visiting my GP about my ongoing battle with high blood pressure. Before I left, I asked him if he would check out the little growth on my temple. A more senior doctor also came into the consulting room and I was then referred to the dermatology department at our local teaching hospital - The Royal Hallamshire.

A month ago I was checked out by a consultant and this evening I went back to the hospital to have the thing "scraped" away under local anaesthetic. I was operated on by a very nice nurse practitioner, ably assisted by a friendly support worker.

The whole experience was more than fine. The two women were very kind, patient and clear about what they were doing. As I departed, I said something like this...

" I have had a lot to do with the NHS these past two years and I have met a good number of NHS professionals. Every person I have met has been kind, professional and good at their jobs and you two ladies certainly fall into that category too. I thank you so much for they way you have treated me. You are a credit to the great organisation you work for. I will be contacting the hospital suggesting that you both receive big bonuses with your pay cheques this month."

The last point made them both chuckle and Helen, the nurse practitioner, said, "Thank you for your kind feedback. It's been a long and tiring day and it's nice to know that we are appreciated. I wish that all of our patients were like you."

My excised cutaneous horn will be analysed in a lab and I should receive the verdict within six weeks.

At the site of the absent krispie, there will be a little scar. I told Helen I didn't mind because I could tell others that I had been in a pub fight. She suggested that my yarn could instead be about a duel in the woods with swords. I rather fancy myself as a modern day D'Artagnan.

In the meantime, I am not horny any more. If you were eating something buttery when you began reading this post - or even a bowl of rice krispies - please accept my sincere apologies if the picture at the top disturbed you.

Tortured

 

Looking up at the strip light on the ceiling. And that big circular operating light. Glaring down. My Iraqi dentist is wearing blue rubber gloves, safety glasses and a beige coloured hijab. What are those things in her fingers? Perhaps miniature weapons of mass destruction. The ones they never found. "Open wider for me please". That gurgling siphon thing sucks excess water and saliva from my mouth quite inefficiently for I am still close to drowning as I gulp like a pelican. 

"Are you all right?" "Arrr...arr...arr". Translated that means "Beam me up Scottie!" Kayleigh, the attractive sunbed bronzed dental nurse, fusses about bringing instruments and dental paste. I hope I remembered to zip up my flyhole. The place where I  keep my fly. 

Saja drills into my skull. Grinding away like a stonemason. But I was against the post 9/11 invasion of Iraq! Don't punish me! It was Bush and Blair. Not me! Please! The torture will surely last forever. Looking up at the striplight into eternity. My mouth is one of my most intimate and private places and yet I have allowed this Islamic woman in there willingly. Not with her tongue French kissing me but with metal implements I cannot see. Aren't torturers meant to cackle with malicious joy? But she gets on with her job - the one she was trained for over several years. 

I am grateful that she managed to squeeze me in after the initial morning consultation. I stagger out feeling violated and sore but I thank Saja and Kayleigh for their service. Even on the NHS we have to pay a bit extra for dental treatment. My bank card makes the card machine bleep successfully. More cash for dentist holidays. I walk home silently praying that the treatment I have received will indeed be the solution to my oral discomfort. 

Fortunately, I was able to manage it during out time in Egypt though there were a few moments when I thought I would have to leave the river cruise to visit an Egyptian dentist. He or she would undoubtedly have held a palm out for "baksheesh"...for services rendered. It was probably the ancient Egyptians who first performed proper dentistry over 4500 years ago. I believe they got there before the Chinese.

Encore

After my last blogpost, some of you out there may have concluded that I had reached the end of my Egypt posts. I am sorry to disappoint you because here's another Egypt post containing eight more of the photographs I took.

I suspected that the top picture - of an Egyptian policeman  in The Valley of the Kings would prove especially appealing to any gay gentlemen who happen to visit this blog.

Below this marvellous block statue of Yamunedjeh caught my eye in Luxor Museum. He was a royal herald to Thuthmosis III who was reigning Egypt in 1450 BC...

Above, at Karnak Temple In Luxor, I spotted that cheeky sparrow having a rest on one of the criosphinxes. Below - tourists are circling the statue of a scarab beetle for good luck.

Above, Egyptian humour on a Nile ferryboat at Luxor. Below, the sign on a very famous tomb. Tutankhamun means living image of the god Amun.

Above I spotted this shop sign in Edfu. It will amuse some football,fans because Mo Salah is the name of Egypt's greatest ever player. Below - one of the most incredible things I saw in Egypt. It is the Nileometer on Elephantine Island, Aswan. The carved lines on that flight of very ancient stone steps were for marking annual flood levels. Flooding heralded fertility with more bountiful harvests to follow and thereby tax levels in Ancient Egypt could be adjusted up or down.

22/3/56

If he had lived, my younger brother Simon would have been seventy years old today - but he died on July 19th 2022 at the age of 67. I wrote a poem in his memory on the evening of his passing. Let me share it with you again...

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Song for Simon

No more

Wood pigeons cooing

Morse coded messages

From the ridge tiles

Nor painted ladies

Shimmying through open windows -

Fluttering like tiny Bhutanese prayer flags.

No more the dark two a.m.

Wondering who I am

Recalling paths unfollowed,

Regrets twinkling

Like distant stars.

No more struggling for breath

Or cowering in the shade of death.

It’s over.

No more plans

And no more schemes,

No more

Elusive butterfly dreams.

Your words are destined to stay unsaid

Now that you have joined the dead.

    No more…

No more.

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Looking back almost four years now... His was not the happiest of lives. He lived in the shadows of who he might have been.  His mind was significantly affected by smoking weed and cannabis resin. Always a cigarette smoker. at times he also drank too much and his attitude to the world and people  beyond his door was filled with scorn because Simon always knew best. I was often the convenient recipient of his venom.

He made my mother's life a misery. He kept returning to her like a bad penny. She was often afraid of him and his weird moods. He could be very aggressive and said horrible things to her. Sometimes she barricaded her bedroom door - wedging a chair against the door handle in case he came into her bedroom in the middle of the night. But she was his mother and in spite of everything she was there for him. She considered it her maternal duty.

For about seven years - between the ages of 28 and 35, Simon had a relationship with a local woman called Linda. Shirley and I liked her a lot. Linda was the best thing that ever happened to Simon. They bought a little house together in Hornsea on the North Sea coast and for a while he seemed like a changed man. I might even dare to say that he was happy... briefly.

But then the nastiness started up again. This time targeted not  at my mother but at Linda. She also became afraid of him and very sadly, they split up. The little house was  sold and despite my protestations, Simon moved back in with my mother. 

She should have been living out her days as a merry widow but instead my monstrous brother was back to torment her, belittle her, criticise her cooking, yell at her, steal her money. It was awful and during that time she would often come over to Sheffield to stay with us. We gave her sanctuary and she could sleep peacefully in her bed before the inevitable journeys back home.

In spite of undiagnosed mental health issues and to his credit, Simon managed to earn wages throughout his troubled life. He was rarely out of work and eight months before his death through cancer, he was still working with a contractor who serviced the water infrastructure - maintaining small underground reservoirs and associated piping for example.

Sadly, he had already offloaded his cherished guitars. In his prime he was a great guitar player. Much better and more dedicated than me. He had real talent and patience when it came to strumming or picking but typically he cut away the rope that connected him with that joy.

Though I stopped loving him decades before he became a human skeleton, I am proud to say that I was there for him at the end. It is what my parents would have wanted.

As folk will often say tritely when death occurs... he is at peace now.

Cruising

Shirley and I had never been on any kind of cruise before and we had always spurned the idea of "all inclusive" holidays. So booking a Nile cruise aboard the "Al Horeya" was something of a departure for us. We fancied Egypt but not the idea of making independent arrangements as we have so often done in the past.

All cruise boats on The Nile look similar. They need to fit through the locks at Esna and they need to pass under bridges. Our boat had five decks with the top one being a lounge area complete with a bar,  a small swimming pool and two little jacuzzi pools. I swam in the pool twice.

Our cabin (Number 420) was on the fourth deck and we were pretty happy with it. The twin beds that butted up with each other were spacious and the pure white Egyptian cotton bedding was smooth and clean. The little bathroom was perfectly serviceable and the hot water supply was reliable. There was a narrow Juliet balcony overlooking the river. The only thing I did not appreciate was that there was a locked connecting door to our neighbours' cabin. Fortunately the couple next door were as quiet as us. The majority of cabins did not have that issue.

Fourth floor housekeeping was undertaken by two young men - Mustafa and Mahmoud who were always smiley and always there. They kept sculpting our towels. See below...

Most passengers ate down on Deck 2 where the Lazeeza restaurant was located. Here breakfast and lunch were buffet affairs. For evening meals there was waiter service.

We were very happy with the food choices and at lunch and dinner there was always something different on the menu. At breakfast I had a freshly made omelette every day after watching it being made by happy Mohamed in his tall toque blanche.

One lunchtime Shirley and I raved about the spinach tagine and I even got the recipe from the head chef. He seemed delighted to be asked.

There were 140 passengers on the boat and eighty two members of staff. We found them all to be diligent, welcoming and smiley. By the way - there were no women in the staff team with only one working woman on board - our holiday rep from Shropshire - Katie. She was very nice and had a fine singing voice too.

We found ourselves conversing at length with several other couples on our boat and this was an enjoyable part of the experience. There were some very nice people but one or two whose main topic of conversation was themselves - where they had been, what they had achieved, what they thought. Once stung, you made a point of avoiding these windbags. There were two widows sharing a cabin, a brother chaperoning his disabled brother and two pairs of gay men who were very comfortable with the holiday experience even though homosexuality is still highly stigmatized in Egypt.

There was a lovely, relaxed atmosphere on board and if someone had said to me - this is how the rest of your life will be from now on, I would not have minded.

Cruising along The Nile with a G&T in your hand. There are far worse things you could spend your remaining time doing.