Saturday

I plonked myself down at this keyboard ready to write my 4758th blogpost but nothing much sprang to mind. I had one or two ideas concerning things I have done in the past but I soon discovered that I had already covered  them in past blogposts. Well, we can't easily remember every blogpost we have ever published can we?

Today, after a wasted morning on the internet, I finally managed to get out into our garden. There were some jobs I needed to do such as dismantling the wooden gate I made thirty years ago.  It leads on to the back lane. The gate has become rotten after all that time and needs replacing. However, it pleases me to think that it lasted so long.

It was difficult getting the old hinges off the wooden gatepost. Not just a simple matter of turning a screwdriver for the screws were rusted and unwilling to move. In the end I had to prise the hinges off and apply brute force, taking care not to damage the gatepost because before too long it will need to receive new screws connected with the new wooden gate I will most likely build from scratch.

This afternoon, I also had to cut back vegetation that flanks the long garden path I made back in the summer of 2009. Next week two fellows will be using that path as they begin work on new patio paving. They will have to prepare the ground and there's a significant amount of  stonework to be done.

Tomorrow's weather forecast predicts a nice sunny morning turning to drizzly rain in the afternoon so I hope to get out there fairly early. There's more to be done before the patio work can commence.

Another thing I did today was to phone my brother Robin in south west France. He has been living there since 2005 - a good chunk of his life. As usual we had a good old chinwag and put the world to rights. We may not speak every week but when we do phone each other the conversation flows naturally. As brothers we have learnt to make allowances for each other. We are the same in many ways but different in others. I have known him longer than any other living person and he can say the same.

Before I sign off, I just want to say I have been thinking about "Quiztime" which has evolved into a regular feature of this blog.  I want the quizzes to be fun to do but it is hard to pick topics that will suit visitors from different places. The last quiz was geographical. What I want to ask is this: Can you suggest a topic or theme for the weeks ahead? The subject should have some universal appeal.

Soon I will be climbing the stairs to my lonely bed but like last night please don't worry about me. I will be okay.

Friday

At 6am I woke to the sound of footsteps on the landing. It was our granddaughter Phoebe. Shirley was already downstairs and I guessed that Phoebe would be disoriented. After all, she had not slept here over night for months.

I called to her, "Phoebe! Come and see Grandpa!" Then she came into our bedroom for a little chat and I was able to ease her anxiety. When she woke up she had been very surprised to find that she was not in her own bedroom.

Her mama had been down in London yesterday - meeting up with her London office team. Her new job will mostly involve working from home here in Sheffield with Thursdays down in London. Once a month, she will have to travel up to Glasgow where the business's head office is located. It is likely that Phoebe will stay with us every Thursday night. We look after her all day Thursday anyway.

Shirley left home at nine thirty - heading down to Warwickshire for what has become known as "The Cousins' Weekend". She will be staying in a big house with her sister and eight of their female cousins. They all grew up together on The Isle of Axholme in Lincolnshire and the annual weekend away has become a family tradition.

So I am "home alone"  this weekend rather like Kevin in the popular 1990 film of that name.

This morning, I drove over to Wingerworth near Chesterfield to meet up with a man called Rick about a woodturning commission I have arranged with him. Presently, I would prefer to say nothing about this but all will be revealed in the fullness of time.

Upon my return from Chesterfield, I decided to trim our front hedge for the first time this year. One of the benefits  of wintertime here in the north of England is that there is no need to mow grass or cut hedges. These are definitely summertime jobs. In winter months, dormancy  is rather appealing.

We have got a general election here in Great Britain in less than a month's time and there was another debate on the television tonight.  It is widely  believed that The Conservative Party are about to be booted out of office and I for one am very happy about that. 

Throughout my life, I have supported The Labour Party and I do not see that changing any time soon even though, after fourteen years in government, The Conservatives will leave behind a poisoned chalice. They have caused so much damage to the lives of ordinary working people, to The National Health Service, to schools and to the basic rules of fair play.  They have drained away precious funding and ensured that under them the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. It was this shower of self-seeking nincompoops that led our country to the self-inflicted economic injuries of Brexit.

Late on this evening, I fancied a couple of pints of beer so I wandered down to "The Dark Horse"  which used to be our local branch of "Lloyds TSB" bank. I drank two pints of "Stones" sitting at a window seat and didn't talk to anyone apart from the barmaid then I came home to write this blogpost.

The door is locked and I have got a lonesome night ahead of me but please don't worry. I will be okay.

Childcare

I was the third of four brothers. During our connected childhoods, our parents did not spend a single penny on childcare. Our mum was normally at home but she did earn money by teaching a few evening classes - specialising in mixed crafts that ranged from glove making and basket weaving to the creation of lampshades. She could turn her hand to anything. Her income paid for extras such as holidays and special Christmas presents.

In the nineteen fifties and early sixties, the necessity for mothers to supplement family incomes was not as great as it is now. Nursery schools and other childcare facilities were not as widespread nor as vital as they are today.

At the start of this week, I had to give my daughter a big hug because after a year out she was going back to work. It had suddenly hit her that it would be a  huge wrench to leave Baby Margot after seven months of devotion to her care and development.

In August, Margot will spend three days a week at the local nursery school that Phoebe currently attends. Till then, Shirley and I will be looking after her for three days a week and on one day a week our son-in-law's mother will take on the responsibility.

Nursery school fees are exorbitant and many working parents have to weigh up whether or not it even pays to work. I mean, what is the point of working if nearly all of your income goes into nursery school coffers? 

In this country, schooling is free from the age of four so why is it not free for children aged one to four? Parents are cogs in the labour force and small children are future workers so they are also going to be valuable to the nation's future economic well-being.

Nowadays, in their retirement, it is not uncommon for grandparents  to take on unpaid childcare roles. You see the evidence all over the place in high streets, children's playgrounds and supermarkets for example.  If fit and able, grandparents invariably perform this essential task very willingly as it not only helps working parents out a lot but also assists bonding with grandchildren. However, it shouldn't be the answer. Workplaces should customarily provide free childcare provision and the system we inhabit should not be taking grandparental childcare for granted.

Advice

An echo from 1969, I heard this song on the radio last weekend and I thought to myself - yes, that is a great chorus. It's urging people to be themselves, live in a manner that feels right for them - no matter what anyone else might say or think. It celebrates independence and individualism.

Cass Elliot

Make Your Own Kind of Music

Written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil

Sung by Cass Elliot

[Verse 1]
Nobody can tell ya
There's only one song worth singing
They may try and sell ya
'Cause it hangs them up
To see someone like you

[Chorus]
But you've gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind of music
Even if nobody else sings along...

Researching Cass Elliot's life I note that she died from a heart attack in 1974 in a flat (apartment) in London  when she was thirty two years old. The flat was owned by Harry Nilsson. Four years later, The Who's eccentric drummer - Keith Moon died in the very same flat - also aged thirty two. I guess that they each made their own kind of music though it didn't last too long.

Quiztime

Yes it is Quiztime once again. Sponsored by Uncle Joe's Mintballs, this week's theme is geography. As usual, answers will be give in the "Comments" section.

⦿

1. What is the longest river in the world?

2. What is the tallest mountain on this planet?

3. What is the most populous city?

4. What is the coldest desert? (It is also the biggest one)

5. What is the most populous country?

6. In which ocean will you find the deepest trench?

7. Which American state has the greatest land area?

8. Which is the smallest American state?

9. How many islands are there in Indonesia?
(a) Just over 500 islands 

(b) Just over 17,500 islands 

or (c) Just over 175,000 islands

10. What is the largest island in The Caribbean Sea?

"How did you do?" says Uncle Joe.

Bollington

I had never been to Bollington before. It was this big white obelisk that drew me there. It is called White Nancy and it commemorates the Battle of Waterloo which occurred in 1815. It stands  at the north end of a ridge overlooking the small Cheshire town. Climbing up there was the first thing I did after I had parked Clint on Water Street. Then I headed south along The Saddle of Kerridge but in the picture below I took a look back at White Nancy....

Above - that's Water Street. No doubt the terraced houses were once occupied by cotton mill workers. It was cotton that caused the small agricultural village to grown into a substantial town in the early nineteenth century.

Below - on my eight mile walk I snapped this picture of foxgloves growing wild against a drystone wall near Swanscoe Farm. There are thousands of these plants around our countryside just now and they love the support of  stone walls...

To service industry, The Macclesfield Canal was dug  and engineered in the eighteen twenties. It finally opened to traffic in 1831 but nowadays it is almost entirely devoted to leisure pursuits. The moored canal boat below is called "Little Luv"...

This narrow boat, steered  and probably owned by a young woman was moving south to the town of Macclesfield. She made the mistake that so many have made before her just after midday - waving a cheery "Good morning!"

In Bollington, I rather liked the look of this hand-painted sign - principally concerning canal-related services.

Below - Grimshaw Street in Bollington passes under the Victorian canal so you can rightly call the stone structure an aqueduct...

Three and a half hours after parking Clint, I  pressed my Hyundai key and soon headed north to the village of Pott Shrigley where I snapped this picture of St Christopher's Church before heading back over the hills to Whaley Bridge and thence to Chapel-en-le-Frith and The Hope Valley...

Sunday June 2nd was such a lovely day. A diamond day of greens and blues and prostrate sheep panting in the shade of trees.

On days like that babies should not die.

Tragedy

Today something terrible happened while I was walking south of Bollington in Cheshire. It happened in the Derbyshire town of Chesterfield which is just eight miles south of Sheffield.

It happened in the maternity unit of the local hospital. And yes, you may have guessed it already. A baby died.

The father is someone I have known since he was four years old. In primary school, he was my son's best friend and he came to this house countless times to play or to eat.

The last time I saw him - which was about a month ago - I said, "I am looking forward to seeing your baby James. I hope all goes well and that you have a beautiful, healthy child in your arms. It won't be long now".

They didn't want to know the baby's gender before he or she was born. That would be a beautiful  surprise as it has been for zillions of parents through the ages.

James's girlfriend went into labour on Friday afternoon. The unborn child was judged to have been growing healthily for forty weeks. But this morning, for whatever reason, it was announced that the baby had died in his/her mother's womb - fully developed and ready to live. However - it was not to be. The dreams, the imaginings and the hopes were over.

I suspect that by now the lifeless babe will have been coaxed out of the womb by medical means. It is such a shit, such a bugger, such a tragedy and I feel awful for James and the lady he usually refers to as his "missus". She was going to be a brilliant mother.

Even the early death of a foetus through miscarriage is tragic but to carry a baby full term and lose it is horrendous. I will go to sleep tonight thinking of that baby and wake thinking about him or her. James and his lady would have loved the unborn child entirely and with all their hearts. What more can I say? 

R.I.P.

Today. The babe was delivered. Never to say a word nor walk a single step nor even breathe a breath but she will be Hayley forever.