16th → 17th May

More recollected songs from my childhood. We had a radio wirelesssee comments in the “front room”(but see ‘thinking’, below) that we used to listen to every evening. It was an ornate object with a dial with all the world’s broadcasters – can’t recall many but Hilversum (a Dutch town, I think) rings a bell and of course there was crackly Luxembourg 208. The Beeb had a virtual monopoly apart from these distant places – Oh there was AFN* too. Don’t talk to me about Larry the Lamb and his mates at Toytown; I hated ‘em.
(Thinking: The “front room” became my maternal grandmother’s exclusive bailiwick for most of the time at Lismore Road. We inhabited “the (back) room”.)
*American Forces Network. Continue reading

May carries on

Not last night, but the night before,
Three tom cats came knocking at my door;
One with a fiddle,
One with a drum,
And one with a pancake stuck to his bum.

disclaimer: I’ve no idea what distant pit of my memory this came from but I’m certain I recollect my mum reciting it to me. It brings back memories of leg splints (I had rickets as a kid) and the downstairs basement back door at Lismore road.


Monday the Twelfth of May 2014

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8th May to My Burfday

Every week I put the bins out to the kerb – they’re all clumped outside my front door the rest of the time. We’ve only two types here, general landfill stuff and recyclable. Strangely the Landfill goes in the green bin and the other one is blue. At the moment the blue bin is synchronised with the fortnightly delivery of “Private Eye” which reduces the memory taxing task of recalling which one’s due. There’s a lady next door who keeps her own bins outside her front door – I put hers out too. For the last year or so there’s been a single mum with two under fives in the house across from our block of flats – I’ve got into the habit of taking hers out at the same time.

Most weeks I get up in time to drag ‘em back to their places but sometimes I get up a bit late and one of the other flat dwellers does it – the “bin men” come round early!

The other week something happened that really hit me. I walked out to find that the bins had been brought in by a guy who lives in the block – he’s not a tenant; he’s bought his flat (thus effectively removing it from the local government housing pool). He was standing talking to someone passing.

“You haven’t taken ‘em all back.” said I, indicating the single mum’s bin still at the kerb.

“No, what has she ever done for me or you to warrant it?” (I paraphrase)

Now this gobsmacked me: he is a regular churchgoer and would presumably call himself a Christian. Almost every conversation with him brings up ‘his’ church in some way.
He’s also an educated man – ex teacher – older than me – and fit enough to cycle around quite a bit.
What sort of church teaches only do things for those who do things for you?

Anyhow, on with the pics. Continue reading

Wednesday 7th May

While walking up and down the canal I often see the same people again and again. After a number of times, the meeting degenerates into:

“Ow do, tha o’ reight?”
“Eye, Arm OK, thar?”
“Eye, no` bad.”    (“no`” pronounced as “not” with the “t” glottled)
“Sithee.”
“Eye ‘appen. Sithee.”

There’s one or two who’ll stop and chat, often (with a gesture towards my camera):
“Owt worth snappin?”
To which my usual reply is along the lines of:
“Nowt unusual. Just a (insert “lapwing; chaffinch; buzzard; etc. as appropriate) or two.”
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