The River Ouse…
I appreciate a misnomer as much as the next person and this is a splendid one. This river doesn’t ooze but I am always transported to medieval times when I hear its name, as if it was then a sludgy, slow-moving, reed-filled cesspool limping sore across the pristine Yorkshire countryside.
Posted in England, I Spy, I Hear, I Smell, I Taste
Tagged architecture, birds, boats, canal boats, England, rivers, travel, York, Yorkshire
England has single-handedly turned around my reluctance to visit pubs.
For one thing, I love being able to suggest to The BB that we “slip out for a swift half.” As regular readers will know, I don’t even like beer, except as reading material, but that phrase, garnered from British TV shows, is too evocative to pass by. I use it to convey a desire for a chilled beverage of any persuasion, ingested from a container of any dimension. Continue reading
Posted in England
Tagged architecture, beer, England, history, humour, Maltings, music, pubs, travel, York, Yorkshire
I am decidedly unenthusiastic about locomotives but, moved by the ravings of The BB and a friend, I decided to give the National Rail Museum in York a whirl.
If you are remotely interested in trains, it’s heaven in several warehouses. Continue reading
A Gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber, wistfully gazes at the York skyline and the waterfront. He’d love to sit on the bank and dangle his non-existent legs over the edge but a tumble in is a one way canal for someone of his water-soaking propensity.
Besides, there are duties to attend to.
Can you imagine the Right Honourable’s excitement? A relative, and a ‘celebrated’ one at that, tucked away in England, hailing from down Tadcaster way. Continue reading
I’m not, by any measure, a beer person so why spend ten minutes in the beer section in the Stratford Garden Centre near Warwick? Because of the names. Check them out. Continue reading
My mother has always considered her singing voice not one to be inflicted upon others. It’s not as if she hasn’t had encouragement. When attending chapel services during her boarding school days, she hummed along to the hymns. One day, the mother of the headmistress, observing this, swooped over and asked her what was going on. Mother explained.
“It doesn’t matter whether you sing in tune or not,” the woman proclaimed. “Just make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”
Mother has been mouthing the words ever since – although, during my childhood, she did sing along to family renditions of Ten Green Bottles. Continue reading