Impromptu lunch, finest kind,
A few beers,
No such thing as a free one,
So I paid.
October 29, 2008
October 28, 2008
The kettle boils, hopefully
The kettle boils, hopefully. I meant to say that I hope the kettle will boil rather than an observation as to the mental state of the kettle as it is boiling.
The tea brews; you know what I’m saying
The wife awaits, expectantly, looking forward to her first cuppa of the day.
Dutifully, I carry the tray upstairs.
6 am
It’s early. I couldn’t sleep so I’m up and sitting on the settee in the living room. The blanket that lives on the settee is covering my legs because it is cold. We are into the last week of October and it definately feels like the first week of winter. The weather forecast for today is wet with a maximum temperature of 7 oC, minimum -1oC.
It doesn’t really get cold that often. Not as often as most people would like I’m sure. We need to have proper winters. Reassuringly cold. It hardly ever gets cold enough for snow. Rarely do we get to go down the common with the sledge, or what’s left of it after 4 kids.
The sledging on the common bit is somewhat romanticised actually. The ten second rush of adrenalin doesn’t seem like adequate recompense for the five minute trudge back up the hill, the wet socks and cold, cold extremities.
One year, after Christmas, we took a cottage in the Lake District for a week. The whole country was covered in snow, except the Lake District. It was a bit of a disappointment and a waste of time carting the sledge all that way. It was a nice cottage, over the road from a nice pub. The pub had given the chef a two week holiday over Christmas though so there was no food there. The menu did look good. Bit strange I thought. Folk eh?
Still we had a good time and the cottage was warm and cosy with a wood burning fire. Mam and Dad came up and stayed on their way home from Ann’s and we had a second Christmas present opening. Hooray.
That was a good break. All too often we hang around at home between Christmas and New Year. Bored. It is a waste of annual holiday. I can see why people go off to St Moritz and Cloisters for New Year. Lots more to do. Plenty of action, mulled wine and fondues. Yes far more interesting. Don’t know why we don’t go!
The after that it’s Barbados or the Bahamas, for that bit of winter sun after the snow. Trouble is we have already booked a weekend in Center Parcs and we can’t do both. Maybe next year…
October 27, 2008
Morning Star
Birthplace and spiritual home of the Philosopher On Tap movement. The concept was dreamt up one evening by the fireside in the pub.
The original plan was to apply for an Arts Council Grant so that I could fund sitting in the pub talking about issues philosophical. Seemed like a good thing for the Arts Council to be spending my tax money on.
I did intend to spend most of the funding with a PR Agency to publicise the activity but the first Agency I approached couldn’t see the newsworthiness of the project. Where were my philosophic credentials? Who would want to listen?
They didn’t quite understand the beauty of the concept. That it actually didn’t matter whether I was a real expert in philosphy or not. The concept to me was a work of art in itself, whether I had a queue of people wanting to talk or nobody.
I sacked the PR Agency and in the end didn’t get round to applying for the funding either. Seemed too much like hard work filling out forms. The alternative is this website.
The Morning Star is a traditional beer drinking pub. No restaurant or frills. You go there to talk and drink. It is just off the beaten path of the Bailgate so it doesn’t get filled with tourists. It and pubs like it hold Philosopher On Tap sessions every day of the year. There are probably more members of the worldwide Philosopher On Tap movement than there are in many major religions.
Boy With Half Eaten Ice Cream
In case you’re asking it was chocolate with a chocolate cone and a flake. From the Ice Cream Parlour in the Bail.
Of course how do we know there was ever another half to this ice cream…
The Rest
Apparently was used by cattle drovers to crash out. Once they had sold their cattle at the market they would get drunk and crash out in the Rest before going home the next day.
Lord Tennyson Statue
Named after the Lord Tennyson pub on Rasen Lane. A rarely seen rear view obscured by trees. Not many devotees around at this time on a cold Sunday afternoon in October.
The Lincoln Hotel
When I was younger than today I was drinking in the Prince of Wales with the manager of what was then the Trusthouse Forte Eastgate Hotel. I commented on how amazed people were that anyone had been allowed to build such a modern monstrosity in the heart of the Catherdral area of Lincoln.
He told me that when he took over the hotel he found a set of plans in a drawer that were the original plans for the hotel and which were far more in keeping with the area. The council had apparently rejected them in favour of the current “more progressive” design!
