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I've tried to write this post a few times; most frequently in the early hours of the morning when stress turns into insomnia and rest cannot be bought with care nor medicine. When reading the drafts back however, they strike me more as entitled whining than updates and
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A bit of midwinter footage to finish off the story of 2023. Here is part of Christmas Eve’s afternoon run, itself cut short because I’d left the boat key at home and had to drag us both back down the bypass (sorry about that). I’ve already written
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Here it is, the end of the year. Or, there it was, at least. It's already been Christmas and New Year, despite it still being a few weeks away just a few minutes ago. An entire week has passed in the mere seconds since I started this draft.
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Hello all, well it looks like I’ve finally resolved the video upload glitch here, so in celebration here is a good 90 odd minute cruise through the Stoke area and into Staffordshire proper, coming to rest at a pub named bizarrely enough, after the actor Neil Morrissey. The mind
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The end of the Trent and Mersey
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Step aboard again, a short journey this time. The cool autumn air takes the comfort from the body; a little from the soul, too. Another year is on the wane, already; heady days pass into memory and away to the ether with falling housedust and retreating echoes. The clank of
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Staffordshire always strikes me as a busy county. One of roadsalt-greyed grass verges and constant roadworks. Huge roadside pubs, always boarded up; nobody ever having time for a swift libation, I assume, it being so busy round here. This view is borne largely from experience; I've travelled through
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Into Stoke and beyond
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Morning all This is just a quick post to keep everyone in the loop. As you have noticed, for the last couple of weeks posts have been a little more sporadic; largely a consequence of the huge demands on my time from work over the high summer period. August into
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Apologies for the radio silence of late; it has been a hooly of a month. August started off routine enough, but as is always the way, that month runs away from one. Though I don’t work in farming in anger any more, I do get caught up in the
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There is something mesmerising about this; about this activity, this way of life. I find the tactile nature of it seductive, there’s no doubt. Even the terrible days, the expensive infuriating days, even those days have something familiar and inviting about them. It is the first click in the
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On Appeasing the Rain Gods of Cheshire, or One of Richard's Fables