Clipstone

On the edge of Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire there was once a substantial royal palace. Its first buildings were erected around 1162 under the instructions of the Norman King Henry II who was England's ruler between 1154 and 1189. He was the father of King Richard I and the grandson of William the Conqueror.

Nowadays - for somewhat obscure reasons - the ancient site is known as King John's Palace. Very little remains. I guess that many of the ancient stones were taken away and used in local building projects.

There was good hunting in the area and maybe that is why the palace was popular with kings and their entourages for over two hundred years. The last king who frequently used the old palace at Clipstone was King Richard II who reigned between 1377 and 1399.

I was there yesterday, including the palace site in a seven mile walking circuit.  Long after those kings of long ago were buried coal deposits were found  close to the old palace and a hundred and fifty years of coal mining began - ending as late as 2003.

If you look hard enough you can still see the evidence of coal mining activity around Clipstone but like the royal palace, with each year that passes, the memory of what once was keeps fading.

Peacock

In August 2017 the beloved Mrs Pudding and I decorated our bedroom. She papered one wall with a good quality paper that contained semi-abstract images of peacocks and leafy growth. The repeating pattern has  something of an oriental quality about it.

The other walls of the bedroom have a creamy plainness about them - and that includes the fitted wardrobes that run along the north wall, opposite the peacocks.

Soon after the decoration was finished, I had the bright idea of creating a canvas to hang on one of the plain walls. I wanted it to be similar to the wallpaper pattern but not identical. This weekend just gone, I finally got round to creating that picture.

Using oil paints, I am reasonably happy with what materialised. It matches my vision - only now I can see that the wallpaper link held me back artistically - chained me. At some time in the not too distant future I plan to have a go at a very different peacock painting. The paint will be thicker and brighter and the final image will be more eye-catching and indeed unique. I may just concentrate  on a peacock's head rather than attempting to depict  the whole creature.

The peacock is one of the avian world's most flamboyant characters and it will  be a challenge to make a new image that satisfies me and exists in its own right with no connection to the wallpaper design - apart from the fact that a peacock will be centre stage.

For what it's worth - here's my first attempt

Shatton

A week ago I parked Clint in the village of Shatton near Bamford before plodding up the hillside to a telecommunications mast that overlooks The Hope Valley. It was a mile of solid uphill walking but I have found that if you breathe steadily and take shorter steps there is no need to pause on such a walk. Patiently, you just keep going.

By the time I reached the mast there was sweat on my brow. A couple were sitting on a grassy slope nearby, admiring the view. I kept going across Shatton Moor and then onward to Brough Lane. From there you get great views of Hope Cement Works (see top picture).

A view of  Bamford in The Hope Valley

Some people bewail the presence of this industry - considering it to be a blot on The Peak District landscape. But I recognise that the modern world needs limestone-based products and families in the nearby villages of Hope and Bradwell need work. Living, breathing national parks need to be part of the real world. It's not all about rental cottages and biscuit box lid scenery.

A posse of girls on horseback trotted along the upland  track as I descended to Elmore Hill Farm where spring lambs frolicked. And then on to Upper Shatton and along the narrow lane that leads you back to Shatton. Cowslips and primroses bloomed on the grassy banking of ancient hedgerows and more lambs sheltered with ewes  in the shade of a copse because it was an unseasonably warm day.

Across the ford and back into Shatton where I took a bottle of water from Clint's boot and swigged it down in one great gulp. It was like breathing air. 

Pooped

Last night saw the final gig of The Blind Eagles' blockbusting tour of northern England. I am writing this on the tour bus as our driver Red steers us back to Manchester Airport so that our North American backing singers - The Eaglettes can fly home.

The last gig happened in The Spa Theatre, Scarborough. We really nailed it!

There was Steve Reed churning out the bass lines like sleepers on a railway track - taking us steadily to some faraway hills and there was his partner Dave caught in the spotlight like Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits. He was inspired. John Gray beat his drumkit in the style of Animal from "The Muppet Show" - beads of perspiration shooting out like some kind of human fountain. God that guy knows to drive the beat.

The Eaglettes - Mary, Vivian and Jenny crooned in natural harmony, their figure-hugging sequined dresses sparkling like distant constellations. They really gelled on the tour - not just as singers but as friends too. Speaking as the lead singer and frontman, they gave me brilliant support. I couldn't have done it without you gals!

The Scarborough crowd were really up for it. News of our success had spread across The Deep North like a forest fire and of course our social media channels - including Twitter and YouTube had added much fuel to the conflagration. Thanks to Meike Riley and Jennifer Barlow for co-ordinating all that stuff.

I think we will all remember the tour for different reasons. That cheap hotel in Blackpool where Dave and Steve were caught snorting coke in the breakfast room by Elsie the fearsome landlady and the riot in Sunderland when waiting fans were told that the gig was completely sold out. The power outage in Grimsby and Red sleeping with all of The Eaglettes that memorable night  in the Travel Lodge just outside York. 

Hey baby, it's all rock n' roll. "Carpe diem"  as they say. You gotta seize the day.

Meantime our first album "The Blind Eagles On Tour" is already charting at number one across Europe and The States. And I am proud to announce  that my original song, "Save The Earth" has been selected as the theme music for the new David Attenborough  TV series that will have the same name:-

Listen to the silence

Now that the birds have gone

Earth whispered long ago

There's no room for every one

Save the Earth

Save the Earth

Save the Earth

"Birds"

On Wednesday afternoon I spent a couple of hours working on the till at Oxfam. I needed some music on the shop  CD player and quickly picked "After the Goldrush" by Neil Young. Incredibly, that album came out in 1970. It has been around for almost fifty years. Can you believe it?

One song from the album  has stayed in my head the last forty eight hours. It is "Birds" and if I have any say in the matter, I would like it to be played at my funeral. Can't be too long now... Please listen:-

"Birds"

Lover,

there will be another one

Who'll hover

over you beneath the sun

Tomorrow

see the things

that never come

Today

When you see me

Fly away without you

Shadow on the things you know

Feathers fall around you

And show you the way to go

It's over, it's over.

Nestled

in your wings my little one

This special

morning brings another sun

Tomorrow

see the things

that never come

Today

When you see me

Fly away without you

Shadow on the things you know

Feathers fall around you

And show you the way to go

It's over, it's over.

Rewind

One is still catching up on the lost days when  the internet vanished like a  will-o'-the-wisp as our laptop suffered some internal malady - like technological diverticulitis.

You may not have noticed this but my blogging stage name is Yorkshire Pudding. In selecting this pseudonym, there seemed to be no more obvious or better choice. After all, my racial heritage is 100% Yorkshire. What could be better than to name myself after my great county's culinary treasure.

When I make Yorkshire puddings no measuring happens and no cookbooks are ever consulted. I could make Yorkshire puddings with my eyes closed. The basic mixture is on the face of things very simple but to make successful Yorkshire puddings you need experience and passion -two qualities which I have in abundance.

On Sunday, the evening sunlight illuminated the batch I had freshly prepared for Sunday dinner. Golden and crispy, they rose from the hollows in the old baking tin like little Yorkist angels. My mother would have been proud of me. Have a look at these bad boys:-

On Easter Monday, I parked on Bents Green Road just a mile from here on the western edge of the city. Its elevation is perhaps two hundred feet above our street's altitude so spring bursts ever so slightly later up there. I noticed the fresh and vibrant cherry blossom when the glory of the blossoming cherry trees closer to home was already fading. 

In one of the pictures you can see Clint snoozing under a pink tree - he is so sleek and silver.and was perturbed about petals falling upon his paintwork but he needn't have worried. The air was so still.

In other news, Ian and Henry have made the front cover of a national food magazine called "Vegan Life". The "Bosh!" story keeps on running:-

Back

I'm Slim Shady (I'm back)

I'm back (I'm back) (Slim Shady!) I'm back

                                                    By Eminem

_______________________________________________

How did I survive the last few days without internet access? Men made of weaker stuff would have surely crumbled but I girded my loins and battled through like a Canadian Mountie on a mission. 

After the long Easter weekend, I took this Lenovo laptop to a young fellow called Josh who manages a small computer business. I explained the problem and twenty four hours later the computer was fixed for £30 (US $40). Thanks to my friend Mick for pointing me in Josh's direction. There was no need to shell out for a new laptop after all. Fingers crossed, this repaired magic machine will now travel much further with me upon life's twisting journey. I hope so anyway.

Lyra McKee (1990-2019)

In those missing days, various things happened both in my life and in the world at large.  There was wicked mass killing by madmen in Sri Lanka and in Derry City, Northern Ireland poor Lyra McKee was accidentally killed by a mindless moron with a gun. In London, Extinction Rebellion protesters raised many questions and the amazing Miss Greta Thunberg was there to provide moral support. Meantime in Yorkshire we were bathed in Easter sunshine.

Travelling to Hull to watch my football team play Sheffield United, I made a special detour to photograph a certain geographical square. In 2011, the Ordnance Survey organisation declared that this square was the dullest, most boring square in the entire United Kingdom. It has no features - no roads or buildings or paths or hills. It is as flat as a pancake and doesn't even have any fences or hedgerows. There are just a few drainage channels and a couple of straggly bushes and in the south western corner there is an electricity pylon.

The square is situated just south of The River Ouse and the small ribbon settlement of Ousefleet that clings to a quiet lane, seven miles east of a town called Goole. It wasn't Mount Everest or The Gibson Desert but I got there...

Within the most boring square