Before

Encyclopedia Britannica

There was a world before the internet. It may sound surreal but there really was. I know - because I was there.

In the days before the internet you had to book holidays or flights at your local travel agent. You could not shop "online" because there was no "online" - unless you were fishing by a lake and you had just hooked a trout "on" your "line"

Before the internet you had to deal with all banking matters in a physical bank where bank clerks and tellers were swamped with paper files because there were no computers to facilitate their work. I know this will sound crazy but if you had a financial problem or needed a loan you could talk it over with your bank manager who was a real human being.

In the days before the internet, people bought newspapers to keep up with things. There were local and national newspapers which sold daily in millions. You found out about the weather there, about births, deaths and marriages. You checked the football results and learnt about the latest political shenanigans or murders or fluctuations in stock markets.

Before the internet you had to use libraries to gather information or delve into The Encyclopedia Britannica - available in thirty two volumes containing 32,640 pages. And if you were a university student there were none of the shortcuts that the internet now provides. You had to spend hours following up references, hunting down pearls of information.

In the days before the internet, there was no e-mail. You had to write letters. They might be handwritten or tapped out on a typewriter but if you made a mistake when typing you had to start again as the word processor did not exist.

An old typewriter

Before the internet, it was not easy to find out how to make a bomb and if you wished to access pornography I understand that you had to reach up to the top shelf in your local newsagent's shop and then - probably with enormous embarrassment - take your chosen magazine to the counter. 

If you were decorating your house you had to check colour charts at your nearest D.I.Y. store and if you needed new recipe ideas when cooking you had to thumb through recipe books. And back then people you had left behind in the past stayed in the past. They didn't come back to haunt you.

In the days before the internet, children played "Snakes and Ladders" together on actual boards and if they were the victims of snide bullying in schools they left it all behind when they went home. It didn't follow them into their bedrooms on internet smartphones.

Yes - my friends - there was a world before the internet. The memory of it is getting misty now. Historically, we sometimes delineate time with the letters "B.C." and "A.D." but perhaps we should consider a new delineation - "B.T.I." and "A.T.I." - before the internet's arrival and after it came along to transform so many aspects of human life in often unexpected ways.

Poem

By Gadding Moor

January

Where are the vivid greens of summer

Emeralds and harlequin and mint

And water lilies spreading by the dam

Where lustrous dragonflies darted?

Now the colours are departed.

Under plumbous skies we move like ghosts

No definition or shadows cast

No sense of future or what’s past.

By Gadding Moor, midst ancient beeches

A gurgling beck tumbles ever eastwards.

Under a carpet of autumn leaves

The woodland path  is still concealed.

Oh, where are the songs of springtime

Primrose, bluebell and celandine

Drifts of wild garlic milk white by the lane

And when will the swallows be here again?

Words

Just the other day, I was listening to a radio interview. The interviewee was recounting a personal story. It doesn't really matter what the story was about. What I noticed was his use of a particular word that I have hardly ever used. That word was "crestfallen". He used it three times in relatively quick succession. It's clearly one of his pet words. I think we all have them.

"Crestfallen" is an excellent word. It suggests how in life we might be riding along on the crest of a wave and then all of a sudden we're thrown off it. We are "crestfallen". Next time this happens to me I will be telling everybody that I am "crestfallen".

I often visit a very helpful word website called simply Thesaurus.com . It's especially useful when exploring synonyms. However, recently it threw up a word that I had never heard of before. That word was "petrichor". Do you  know it? "Petrichor" means - a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. 

Like me, you will have experienced it - a sweet and slightly metallic odour that only arrives when rain has at last fallen to quench the earth. "Petrichor" was coined as recently as 1964 by two Australian researchers who were investigating the phenomenon. It has always been one of my favourite smells - along with a newly tarred road and the aroma of freshly baked Yorkshire puddings lifted from a hot oven.

Next time rain falls after a long dry spell of a weather I will stick my head out of the door and fill my lungs with the petrichoral air before shouting to Mrs Pudding - "Come and breathe in the petrichor honey!"

Crestfallen, that spurned lover stepped out into a newly dampened summer's morning  which was fragrant with petrichor.

Are there any great words that you have noted recently?

"Hello"

When walking along a busy city street, I never say "hello" to the strangers I pass. However, out in the countryside it's a different matter.

Frequently, I find myself plodding in splendid isolation along little trodden paths but then occasionally other ramblers will appear in view, heading towards me.  When this happens, I always try to make eye contact before smiling and saying "hello". 

I would estimate that 70% of the people I greet in this way respond in kind with a cheery "Good day", "How do you do" or "Hello". Sometimes we might even stop and chat for a while before carrying on. I have met several interesting people in that way.

But three out of ten people I pass by say nothing. They blank me entirely making me feel like The Invisible Man or a leper who has just escaped from his colony. When this happens I will often say, "Well don't say hello then!" when they are level with me and once when I was in a foul mood, I confess that I added, "You ignorant sod!"

Having contemplated this matter on several occasions, I have compiled a mixture of conclusions about why some walkers refuse to return friendly greetings. Firstly, they might be extremely arrogant or toffee-nosed. Secondly, they might be very shy or bashful. Thirdly, they might be wary of six foot strangers - fearing assault or worse still - personal interaction that could lead to some sort of undesired social  tangle. Fourthly, they might be listening to music through earphones hidden by hair or woolly hats.

When I see someone approaching I have no idea what their personal story is. They could be feeling suicidal. Maybe a family member has just died. Perhaps they are suffering in other unimagined ways. That's one of the reasons I choose to smile and say "hello". My greeting proves that they have been noticed and that we are fellow members of the human race. But it should work the other way too. When they see me coming they don't know what my story is either.

Saying "hello" is a gesture that shows humanity and a belief in our togetherness as we sail through space. We are all travellers making our way along the paths of life, experiencing ups and downs. Surely, the least we can say is "hello".

Caption

Lunchtime at Carr Lane Farm

Walking near Penistone today, the weather forecasters' promise of bright, sunny spells did not materialise so my photographs were poorly illuminated. I plodded for three hours and The Sun God did not show his face once. Still, after the excesses of Christmastime it was nice to tramp for several miles and to tire myself out.

Later, back in Penistone, I visited The Arts Cafe opposite the parish church for refreshment. I fell into conversation with an elegant and articulate woman who soon explained her heritage. She was born in Equatorial Guinea - her father was from the Basque region of Spain and her mother was from the Catalan region of France. She had married an Irishman and after living in both America and Australia they had settled in Yorkshire where her three children were born.

Not that she was particularly interested but I was proud to tell her that in contrast I am a thoroughbred Yorkshireman. All my great grandparents were born here and so were my four grandparents and my parents too. I was born in Yorkshire like my three brothers and my own children were born in the county. Not a whiff of Equatorial Guinea, not a drop of Basque blood. All pure Yorkshire! The Master Race!

Another picture from Carr Lane Farm... oh and by the way Penistone is a genuine place name. I swear I did not make it up. 

CAPTION COMPETITION

2019

Lower Bents Farm, Totley Bents

So this is 2019. It's a strange place and it will take me some time to get used to it. 

Here we stand at the beginning, looking out over a mysterious  landscape that stretches before us like a counterpane - all the way to the distant hills of December. Who knows what will befall us as we travel onward?

There'll be personal happenings, national matters and events of international significance. For the billionth year running we will receive no visitors from outer space and God will continue to ignore us. Perhaps he is dead.

Yesterday, at the KCom Stadium in Hull, my beloved team thumped Bolton Wanderers by six goals to nil. I am glad it was Bolton because in early 1966 as I walked to Burnden Park, Bolton from the grimy railway station, a local youth grabbed my Hull City bobble hat from my head and ran off with it down the thronging streets. I chased him but he got away. My mother had knitted that hat and on the front was my "World Cup Willie" badge. That summer England would famously win the World Cup.

I wasn't in Hull to see yesterday's goal fest. Instead, I was walking with my wife. Two miles out of the city, we took the same circuitous route I have plodded a hundred times or more. We parked by the old stables on Shorts Lane.

View to "The Cricket Inn", Totley Bents

There were plenty of people about, Usually,I see no one at all but with it being New Year's Day and with the clement weather, many folk had had the same idea as us. 

The walk took exactly an hour and afterwards Clint took us to "The Hare and Hounds" in nearby Dore. There we enjoyed our first alcoholic drinks of the new year. I had a pint of "Black Sheep" and Shirley had a half of "Moonshine". We considered ordering food but thought better of it and returned home for cheese on toast.

Two days in to 2019 and so far so good. I have secured a dental appointment for Friday afternoon and  that morning I will have a skin cancer check up at The Royal Hallamshire Hospital. Hopefully, my basal cell carcinoma has been resigned to history but you never know.

With regard to the land of 2019, I feel a sense of trepidation as we begin to travel across it. Not for my personal life but for the country and the world at large. After the events of 2018, it is hard to be  hugely optimistic. Early cartographers would often sketch fabulous beasts on the edges of their maps, writing "Here be Monsters" or "There be Dragons" and that's how I feel about the year ahead.

Let's hope I am wrong. Should old acquaintance be forgot? Happy New Year Everybody! Happy New Year!

Tree house by Strawberry Lee Lane

AWARDS

Well, my friends, the time has come

Raise the roof and have some fun

Throw away the work to be done

Let the music play on

Everybody sing, everybody dance

Lose yourself in wild romance, we going to

Parti', karamu', fiesta, forever

Come on and sing along

We're going to parti', karamu', fiesta, forever

Come on and sing along

All night long (all night), all night (all night)

All night long (all night), all night (all night)

All night long (all night), all night (all night)

All night long (all night), ooh yeah (all night)

Down at our local pub, the party is indeed still going on in the upstairs room. I slipped away quietly having imbibed far too many foaming quarts of English ale. 

"The Banner Cross Hotel" was the secret location for the tenth annual Laughing Horse Blogging Awards and I must report that the place was packed. Lady bloggers and blog observers were dressed in their most sparkly gladrags, dancing in clouds of  Christmas gift perfume while the gentlemen wore sober evening suits - apart from blogging  legend John Gray who had arrived as Captain Jack Sparrow - mistakenly believing that this was a fancy dress event.

We enjoyed a fine Yorkshire buffet. Indeed the pub's trestle tables groaned under the weight of the celebratory fayre. A giant steak pie had been prepared by the "Banner Crust" bakery and there were cauldrons of minted mushy peas and rich onion gravy. Homemade scotch eggs were meticulously piled up like a pyramid and there were flaky sausage rolls, generous slices of pork pie, Whitby cod fish fingers and individual rhubarb puddings with fresh creme anglais (i.e. custard).

It was good to meet up with bloggers and blog visitors old and new. Sitting at a keyboard creating blogposts, it is sometimes easy to forget that the people we meet through blogging are real. They breathe, they walk around. They exist.

I danced with Meike Riley for ages. How that girl can shimmy! Then Jennifer Barlow tapped Meike on the shoulder and we in turn danced to "Oops!...I Did it Again" by Britney Spears before her shoulder was similarly tapped by Sue from Lincolnshire. What number did we dance to? Oh yes - it was "All Night Long" by Lionel Richie. See above. I was exhausted and when regular blog visitor Bonnie tried to pull me to my feet I was obliged to decline. 

On the little stage, Red the Canadian sound man was having trouble overcoming feedback problems but finally he got the mike working properly. Nervously, I mounted the stage and asked the disc jockey - Lee "Tamborine"George from Queensland to cut the music. "Okay Yorkie! Your wish is my command!"  It was time to announce the Laughing Horse Blog Award Winners for 2018.

"Get on with it!" yelled Steve Reed who had consumed far too many martinis and had just raced up north in a black cab from Heathrow following his recent Florida drug run.

"Yeah! Get on with it! LOL!" commanded a giggly Briony from Brighton who had a peacock feather fascinator on her bonce. Talk about dog's dinners!

I began, "Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I would simply like to welcome you here this evening. The Laughing Horse Awards Committee have instructed me to thank you one and all for your services to blogging but as you know, tonight is all about winners. We have five sub-awards to announce before the name of the overall Blogger of the Year is revealed..."

A buzz of anticipation surged around the room like an electric current.

___________________________________________________

These were the five sub-awards:-

CANADIAN BLOGGER OF THE YEAR

This deserved award goes to Jenny O in Nova Scotia, Canada for "Procrastinating Donkey". Jenny's "Poetry Monday" feature is a nice post to look forward to each week. In general, her blog is upbeat and cheerful and she is also in the habit of leaving interested and supportive comments on other people's blogs. Though her style is honest and true, she prefers to retain an air of anonymity - Jenny O is not her real name. However, Canadians everywhere should rejoice! One of your own has been officially recognised. Congratulations Jenny O!

LONG SERVICE AWARD

This equally deserved award goes to Robert Brague in Canton, Georgia USA for "Rhymes With Plague". Like an old steam train, this blog has been puffing along for eleven years. Bob brings us news of his family, musical reflections and intellectual forays into the mysterious worlds of science and mathematics. He poses many questions and declares in his sidebar that he is "exceedingly handsome, intelligent and thorough".  At 77 years of age, Bob proves that it is both possible and desirable to remain inquisitive even as we enter old age.

BEST BLOG FROM SOUTH CAROLINA

Those of us who have travelled with Jennifer Barlow on her blogging journey have seen her blossom in the past year after at last securing a new job that she really enjoys and more recently a home of her own. Jennifer's blog is called "Sparrow Tree Journal" and characters that figure in it are her husband - The Fish Guy and their dogs George and Ginger. The boss of the house is a parrot called Marco. Jennifer is not a Trump supporter but she is very supportive of  other bloggers that she has attached to. Keep up the good blogging work Jennifer!

LONDON BLOGGER OF THE YEAR
Named "Blogger of the Year" in 2016, Steve Reed in West Hampstead, London continues to impress the judging panel with his erudite and well illustrated blog - "Shadows and Light". His photographs are  often quirky for Steve notices things that most of us would tend to overlook. He must consume plenty of fibre because his blogposts are very regular. It is rare for him to miss a single day. Many of his loyal visitors admire his relationship with his happy, squirrel-crazy dog - Olga. Meantime Dave, Steve's music teacher husband, lurks in the background. 

BLOGGING THROUGH ADVERSITY AWARD 

Is there a more popular blogger in the blogosphere that Mr John Gray from North Wales? He wears his heart on his sleeve and over the last twelve years  his ongoing tale of life's ups and downs has engaged hundreds, nay thousands of visitors  from across the world. However, this year we were all shocked and saddened to learn about his marriage ending and we felt some of John's pain. Yet, he kept going with "Going Gently" - publishing posts regularly and putting on a brave face even when his heart was breaking. That is why Laughing Horse have again acknowledged his services to blogging. Incidentally, he was the overall blogger of the year back in 2010.

_________________________________________________________

OVERALL BLOGGER OF 
THE YEAR FOR 2018
Unfortunately, Mary Moon - author of "Bless our Hearts" was not present in "The Banner Cross Hotel" to receive her prestigious award. She is currently on holiday in Mexico with her husband. The judging panel felt that Mary's blog represents the best in blogging. It is a platform upon which she reveals true tales from her generally happy life in Lloyd, North Florida. Mary has passions and opinions and she is not afraid to reveal them. She has a special way with words. Underpinning it all is her family life, including her grandchildren with whom she is utterly besotted. Mary is not afraid to touch upon her insecurities as well as her strengths. She is both humane and human and in the opinion of the Laughing Horse team, she is living the true American dream - warm and earthy and real - not the plastic fantasy  one that  is often fallaciously suggested in films, glossy magazines and trashy novels. Congratulations Mary Moon!

As you can see The Blogger of The Year - Ms Mary Moon

was overwhelmed with unbridled joy when she received her

award from Lionel Richie who is also currently holidaying 

in Cozumel, Mexico.