where art collides philosoperontap

Sausage (sausage) sarnie for breakfast. Up earlyish as I need to drop THG off at the gym. The bangers (sausages) are sizzling away as I write, perched on the end of the butcher’s block. Tis a freezing cold morning out. The car windscreen will need some defrosting before we set off.

Our last visitors leave today and THG sets off for da smoke to see a show with Hannah. Daresay they will also take in some shopping. Who wouldn’t? This is all best left to the experts. Not moi.

Dunno if you’ve ever been shopping on a high street, be it Oxford Street or where you live, but it is nigh on impossible to walk in a straight line. There are so many people! What’s that all about? Where’s the enjoyment? Queuing up for the instore caff and then trying to find a free table! Nah!

I did go to John Lewis in Liverpool with THG last autumn. Only because it was next door to the hotel. She was already instore and I met her there to “do” lunch. 

My lack of understanding of the system really came to the fore. THG had a voucher for a free hot drink (beverage). Our paths diverged. Me for the sandwich section and she for a bowl of soup (soup). Something like that anyway. I paid for my sandwich at a different till. No hot drink voucher! She waved at me but I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell me across the crowded cafe. 

I had a bottle of sparkling water anyway. We took advantage of the voucher after finishing the food so all was well. Like I said, I’m an amateur. Well I didn’t say that. I just alluded to it.

Didn’t buy anything in the shop. I don’t need anything and at the time didn’t know I “needed” a serrated grapefruit spoon which has since been acquired. I doubt whether John Lewis sells grapefruit spoons at £1.99 for two anyway. Had they sold such an item, which they likely do being John Lewis, price would not have been an issue as they are never knowingly undersold. 

I guess there are grapefruit spoons and then there are John Lewis grapefruit spoons. I would probably not have had to wait a month for the spoons to arrive from China had I sourced them instore which is their proposition innit.

When I bought the grapefruit spoons it wasn’t so much the price that attracted me. It was more the fact that I only needed one and most offers were for a set of six at a higher price (natch). The two for £1.99 therefore did it for me and I can now eat grapefruit in the comfortable knowledge that should I ever mislay one spoon I have a spare to fall back on. They aren’t particularly posh spoons but yanow what, it’s only a grapefruit spoon.

…

Observations from the drive to the gym:

Hard frost on the car windows at nine am. Had to get the scraper out. Yesterday I just let the engine run but today time was more of an issue. Car dashboard said it was minus one degrees out. Metoffice says it would be three degrees by ten o’clock.

Recycling day on Newport. Lots of packaging left over from Christmas put out including a flymo box. Presumably someone got what they asked for in their letter to Santa. I imagined it was a bit like buying your partner an iron or a new hoover. Could have been bought in the the sales I suppose. Won’t be using it for a few months. Not sure the sales are much cop these days.

Sun was very low and quite dazzling on the trip back. It has its work cut out if it is going to raise the temperature by four degrees by ten am.

At the traffic lights I saw someone I’m sure I knew but hadn’t seen for a long time. Aged a bit but I guess we all have. She was pushing a pushchair containing a small child. The things grandparents do! I assume it was a grandchild. I’d like to bet that the kid was wondering what on earth they were doing out on a freezing cold morning such as this. Me too. I’m nice and snug back home in the snug.

Got home and checked the thermometer in the greenhouse. Barely above zero. Needs sunshine to improve its effectiveness as a place for growing plants. The plants in the heated propagators seem to be doing ok though.

In case you are wondering, the words in brackets (parenthese) are the American words for the original English. Communication is my middle name 🙂 (actually it’s Trefor).. Up earlyish as I need to drop THG off at the gym. The bangers (sausages) are sizzling away as I write, perched on the end of the butcher’s block. Tis a freezing cold morning out. The car windscreen will need some defrosting before we set off.

Our last visitors leave today and THG sets off for da smoke to see a show with Hannah. Daresay they will also take in some shopping. Who wouldn’t? This is all best left to the experts. Not moi.

Dunno if you’ve ever been shopping on a high street, be it Oxford Street or where you live, but it is nigh on impossible to walk in a straight line. There are so many people! What’s that all about? Where’s the enjoyment? Queuing up for the instore caff and then trying to find a free table! Nah!

I did go to John Lewis in Liverpool with THG last autumn. Only because it was next door to the hotel. She was already instore and I met her there to “do” lunch. 

My lack of understanding of the system really came to the fore. THG had a voucher for a free hot drink (beverage). Our paths diverged. Me for the sandwich section and she for a bowl of soup (soup). Something like that anyway. I paid for my sandwich at a different till. No hot drink voucher! She waved at me but I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell me across the crowded cafe. 

I had a bottle of sparkling water anyway. We took advantage of the voucher after finishing the food so all was well. Like I said, I’m an amateur. Well I didn’t say that. I just alluded to it.

Didn’t buy anything in the shop. I don’t need anything and at the time didn’t know I “needed” a serrated grapefruit spoon which has since been acquired. I doubt whether John Lewis sells grapefruit spoons at £1.99 for two anyway. Had they sold such an item, which they likely do being John Lewis, price would not have been an issue as they are never knowingly undersold. 

I guess there are grapefruit spoons and then there are John Lewis grapefruit spoons. I would probably not have had to wait a month for the spoons to arrive from China had I sourced them instore which is their proposition innit.

When I bought the grapefruit spoons it wasn’t so much the price that attracted me. It was more the fact that I only needed one and most offers were for a set of six at a higher price (natch). The two for £1.99 therefore did it for me and I can now eat grapefruit in the comfortable knowledge that should I ever mislay one spoon I have a spare to fall back on. They aren’t particularly posh spoons but yanow what, it’s only a grapefruit spoon.

…

Observations from the drive to the gym:

Hard frost on the car windows at nine am. Had to get the scraper out. Yesterday I just let the engine run but today time was more of an issue. Car dashboard said it was minus one degrees out. Metoffice says it would be three degrees by ten o’clock.

Recycling day on Newport. Lots of packaging left over from Christmas put out including a flymo box. Presumably someone got what they asked for in their letter to Santa. I imagined it was a bit like buying your partner an iron or a new hoover. Could have been bought in the the sales I suppose. Won’t be using it for a few months. Not sure the sales are much cop these days.

Sun was very low and quite dazzling on the trip back. It has its work cut out if it is going to raise the temperature by four degrees by ten am.

At the traffic lights I saw someone I’m sure I knew but hadn’t seen for a long time. Aged a bit but I guess we all have. She was pushing a pushchair containing a small child. The things grandparents do! I assume it was a grandchild. I’d like to bet that the kid was wondering what on earth they were doing out on a freezing cold morning such as this. Me too. I’m nice and snug back home in the snug.

Got home and checked the thermometer in the greenhouse. Barely above zero. Needs sunshine to improve its effectiveness as a place for growing plants. The plants in the heated propagators seem to be doing ok though.

In case you are wondering, the words in brackets (parenthese) are the American words for the original English. Communication is my middle name 🙂 (actually it’s Trefor).

At 0737 this morning THG declared it was time to get up and flung the curtains wide open. It made little difference to the light level in the room and I  continued to hibernate as most honest folk would deem sensible for this deepest midwintertime. 

Outside the temperature has plummeted. Yellow warnings of snow and ice are evident. We have a supply of fuel and still plenty of food in the larder and will see it through to easier times.

I’m glad I left the heating on in the shed and should be able to make it along the garden path if I wrap up warmly. My plan this morning is to restore the hatstand, removed to the house for additional coat hanging capacity over the festive period, to its rightful home int shed. I will take the opportunity to  clean out “hatstand corner” before putting it back. An overdue exercise. In fact that corner has never been touched.

The restoration of the hatstand will have the knock on effect of tidying the rest of the shed as the collected garments and tote bags that had made it their home are moved back into place from the floor under the spare desk where they were peremptorily dumped before the start of the yuletide holiday. A final act of the restoration to the normal state of affairs, were it not for the fact that tree is staying put until after the weekend. With this I am OK.

Right. Time to pause hibernation and join THG for breakfast. 

…

Fire is lit and blazing away in the front room. Just right for today’s weather conditions. It is a nice sunny day but bitterly cold. I’ve been reading my new book – SAS Daggers Drawn. Boys own stuff. I am a boy. The fire gives off a perfect heat for the size of the room. They knew what they were doing when they built the house in 1939 although at the time the windows were single glazed and metal framed so bloomin cold.

Dawns the year twenty twenty five. A time of hope and optimism. A year ahead that has not yet had the opportunity to disappoint. I predict big things. 

The shed, for one, is going to undergo a revamp. Nothing drastic but some of the posters that have adorned its walls, perhaps since the dawn of shed time are going to be replaced. Some are irreplaceable and are part of the fabric of tref but tref is an evolutionary being and as tref time moves on shift happens. Small touches that keep the shed alive and make the difference.

I’d like to make more of the shed. In my mind it is at once a place for discussion, drinking, sport, creativity, a destination, meeting place, at once a haven from the outside world and a place that influences and shapes the world around. Everything to all men.

My hip is going to undergo a revamp. The right one at least and we will see about the left when the right one is sorted.

We have a wedding in the family. Hannah is marrying George in September. 9 months of planning and looking forward to the big day.

…

Already a dramatic start to the year as a large tree fell onto the Dawkinses cars writing three of them off and blocking the road. Interesting to think that this sort of thing has been a regular occurrence in nature for millions of years without anyone noticing it happening.

…

All is calm in the Davies household. Was going to wait for a couple of visitors to get up before having breakfast but have now been informed that since they didn’t get to bed until 4am I should just crack on.

The decs are gradually coming down and being returned to their boxes ready for next year.

Just ordered A History of Wales, 1660-1815 by ED Evans. It was referred to at the end of the chapter on primary sources in The People of Seion and figured it was in the sweet spot for my continued research into the family tree. One of the primary sources referred to was The Religious Census of 1851 which coincidentally I took delivery of just before Christmas. Happy days.

THG mentioned the ED Evans was v niche but I replied that it wasn’t nearly as niche as The Welsh Methodist Society: The Early Societies in South-west Wales 1737-1750 which as you can imagine was an interesting read.

Being of Baptist extraction I’m not specifically interested in the Methodists. Just with the general dissatisfaction in the way the established church was run and how it led to the formation of dissenting alternatives, which is where I come in.

Had a couple of breakthroughs yesterday in the ole research. I’ve been trying to trace the footsteps of various ancestors using the Census but google provides no data on some of the places they lived. The answer is old OS maps. In the nineteenth century they specifically named farms and mills. After some poring over different maps and correlating what I’ve found with the names of surrounding properties in the census I’ve been able to identify some of the places. Even got modern street view images of the name of the place at the farm gate. Before registering the usefulness of old maps I was virtually “walking” the roads in areas hoping to find clues as to place names.

I found one former mill that is in the census as Glandwr but on the map as Lan Dwr. A streetview zoom showed a stone embedded in the otherwise whitewashed wall with LD1776 on it. Glandwr and LD1776 are without doubt the same place.

Some places still remain hidden, I suspect no longer there, as might be the case with the “woollen factory” building in the map shown. I think places like this will involve actual visits and walking the ground which will have to wait until after the hip op. Still, it’s progress. I’m planning to spend a week touring all these locations sometime in 2025.

Anyway enough of this talk about old things. Today is New Year’s Eve and will involve looking ahead to new things. Hope you have a good one.

I feel a period of monastic austerity approaching. After the rampant hedonism and over consumption of December the body, as is normal for this time of year, is saying no, Tref, enough is enough. It will help that all the nice Quality Street chocs were eaten some time ago and I’m about out of tonic water making the surprise presence of gin left in the bottle quite superfluous.

I have a pile of Michael Mosley Fast 800 recipe books on the desk beside me and will shortly be compiling some menus for consumption over the next week or two. There are some outliers. We are off out on the lash early doors New Years Eve and then there’s the lunch at the rugby club on Saturday but other than that there is a clear run of healthy eating until my sister Sue’s birthday bash on the weekend of the 11th Jan.

In the meantime I have a proposition to make. A prize giveaway. The first person to post a genuine photo of Easter eggs in a supermarket either in my timeline or as a comment in this post will be the winner. You need to be honest to yourself. No digging out photos from last year please. I won’t be checking because I trust you but others might.

The prize is a fantastic pair of tropical trefbash tiki cans left over from the night plus some custom trefbash beermats that the club forgot to put out. These are v limited edition. No more will be printed, ever!

Thassit. I have menus to compile. Ciao bebes

It isn’t New Years Eve yet but the media is pushing out 2024 retrospectives. Maybe they use NYE to look ahead. I did start writing some stuff about the highlights of 2024 but decided not to publish. You will have seen them here as they happened anyway. Time to move on and look forward to an exciting 2025.

The biggest change I always need to get my brain around is the fact that it will be 2025 not 2024. An irreversible change. I guess we could extend 2024 to having an infinite number of days but that would truly mess things up. 

Think of calendars already printed and online. The chaos would be tremendous. We would need to invent new months. The change would need to be planned well ahead of time and would inevitably cause rows as people would have different opinions on the subject. Worse even than Brexshit.

On balance I think my vote goes to keeping the system as it is and just changing the number to 2025. It’s a good enough number anyway. I’ll leave it at that.

Feast of the Holy Innocents today. This is one of the most popular and entertaining Christmas traditions in Spain. December 28 is the day when everyone is allowed to play practical jokes and when it is customary to buy prank items at Christmas markets like the one in the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. Not here. Anyway Lincoln council pulled the plug on the Christmas market, miserable gits.

The spiel about Spain came from the country’s official tourist website. Came up number one in search results. A bit strange. All the other sites majored on King Herod massacring babies which is v gory but highly relevant. I think I prefer the Spanish attitude to the day.

No feasting here. Don’t think it’s appropriate plus we’ve had enough food to last us a while. We can now go into hibernation in the happy knowledge that we have enough bodily reserves to last until the snows start to melt.

Coincidentally, ish, it’s the pope doing thought for the day on’t wireless. I guess they line up their top attractions over the festive season. Trying to take advantage of the mood of the moment by fielding big hitters. I would. Get the message across while people are still receptive. Suitably boring delivery mind you with a voice over in English. Tuning out. All you need is love ❤️. 

I am downstairs in the snug. THG is in the kitchen having an early breakfast before doing the park run, fair play. Still a bit misty out there but as long as you can see the person in front of you you should make it around the circuit.

After yesterday’s start the process of emptying the house of offspring continues today as another leaves for home. This time Berlin. In my mind it will be cold there with icy winds blowing across from the east. Shutting my eyes I can hear the sound of jackboots ringing out across no mans land and a shout as someone is spotted trying to escape. 

Not like that anymore obvs. That’s just an influence from a childhood growing up during the cold war. The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. Stuff like that. When we moved to the Isle of Man dad, as a senior civil servant, was offered a place in the nuclear bunker there. Told em to stuff it. 

I remember one evening standing in our front garden hearing the wail of a siren coming from Douglas three miles away. Dad and I looked at each other wondering whether that was the three minute warning (or however many minutes it was supposed to be). Turned out to be the signal for the Douglas lifeboat to go out. 

We don’t want to get back to those days do we? Nostalgia doesn’t apply.

Today I start to throttle back on the feasting, as I said. This does have to be a controlled throttling back. You can’t just go from full on feasting to totes austerity and dieting in one day. It would be like falling off a cliff. There are some planned feasts that will be difficult to avoid. New Year’s Eve for one plus the lunch at the rugby club on 4th Jan. 

I guess I could drive to the rugby club but the temptations will be great and manifold and peer group pressure needs adding into the mix. Also the last time I drove to watch the rugby I got done for speeding on Bunkers Hill. 35mph. Bar stewards. 

Not really a New Years Eve fan but our pals get together mid pm in the White Hart to avoid the rush and have a meal at six. Means we can be home in plenty of time for an early night and avoid the false bonhomie that comes out every year on that evening. Should be in bed by ten as usual. Phone will be on silent so don’t bother ringing. Bah humbug.

St John The Evangelist’s big day d’aujourd’hui. I only know because last year I was watching some programme about how they celebrated Christmas in mediaeval times and a number of saints were feasted so to speak. Looked em up and inserted the dates in my calendar in perpetuity. Long after I am gone there will be calendar reminders to that effect (those effects?).

Doubt whether St John spoke French. Otherwise he might have been a St Jean which he aint, afaik. Might be in France I suppose. They have a mind of their own. Only apostle not to be martyred apaz. Side stepped that one. Probs saw it coming before the others and arranged to be out at the shops or similar when the Roman soldiers rocked up at the gaff where they were all staying. Just a lucky happenstance.

Tonight we will be celebrating ole St John’s feast with a bit of salad. Had enough big meals to do me at least until tomorrow 🙂 We do have a lot of stuff to eat up. Mind you I am considering having a full English to break the fast. Believe it or not I’ve avoided one up until now over this holiday period. Even Christmas Day. See how I feel in thirty mins or so. No rush. Defo avin half a grapefruit as well. Use my new grapefruit spoon innit.

Some FB pals (well one) has expressed a certain level of ignorance about the aforementioned John. I don’t feel inclined to help them out when they can easily google it, which is what I did in the first place. There’s a lot of stuff out there on tinterweb about Johnny boy, as you might imagine. Two thousand years of posting including some of his own stuff. I’m sure I found somewhere that his feast involves wine although I can’t seem to lay my hands on the source this morning. We still have a bottle or two of wine left so might raise a glass to the lad this evening. I’m sure there will be other takers if the suggestion is put to the table.

A miserable foggy day out. Despite this it would be worth going out for a walk were it not for the fact that I’m somewhat crippled right now and having a new hip in February. Just six weeks or so to wait. Over 100k people get it done in the uk every year (annually) apaz. That’s a lorra people. Since announcing the fact it’s amazing how many people have said they’ve had it done or they know someone who has. Enough of this hip talk.

I doubt St John ever encountered fog. Holy land is a bit warmer than the UK. Also references to snow are down to good King Wenceslas who as far as I am aware lived nowhere near the Middle East (Mid East if you are from across the pond). Don’t get much snow ere either. Do get fog though, as you know. In those days they didn’t have such a thing as replacement hips either. They wouldn’t have needed one anyway as JC and the gang were around to apply healing hands to any deserving cripple they came across.

Strange to think that the market for replacement hips, which is worth at least one and a half billion squid a year in the UK based on fifteen grand a pop, would not exist had there still been people around able to perform miracles. The art seems to have died out after the middle ages although the Catholic Church does still occasionally churn out a saint. I’m a bit sceptical of these newbie saints meself. Feels as if the church feels obliged to keep the tradition alive. They should be able to move on 🙂 .

As a Davies I am named after St David. In my part of the world (well in Carmarthenshire where my ancestors trod the sod) twenty five percent of the populace are Davieses. In the days before surnames sons were oft named after St David as might have been their fathers before. So David ap (son of) David morphed into David Davies’. Would more likely have been Dewi or Dafydd in Sir Gaerfyrddin where few people spoke the invasive English language that the church felt obliged to use to write down names.

I don’t feel particularly saintly otherwise I’d have fixed the hip meself. I can however fix breakfast which is what I am going to do now. Ciao amigos.

Kid 3 sets off for Caadiff today to spend time with his gf Lucy’s family. She is a lovely girl.

Lying in bed pondering the fact that I am still full from yesterday’s lunch and having had no supper. Didn’t even make the cheese course. Today’s repeat dinner has been put back until this evening. Toast and a bit of grapefruit for brekkie methinks. All subject to approval from the assembled masses who are all also still in bed. 

Gotta write out a birthday card for the heir. Momentous Christmas that was. THG went in to labour during the evening on Christmas Day. I had cooked lunch and subsequently fallen asleep on the sofa. When I woke up all the dishes had been washed, the house tidied and the process begun. 

Not sure we got much kip that night. Spent it noting times of contractions on a piece of paper by the bed.

By breakfast it was time to take her in to the hospital maternity wing which was just down the road from us. The rest is history.

Had that piece of paper with timings in the drawer of the bedside table for years but it is now lost. Birrofashame but not a biggie.

…

Now downstairs the kitchen is a hive of activity but no sign of any offspring. This is very much in contrast to the time when they were kids, particularly on Christmas Day itself. We’ve never got out of the habit of getting up early since then. It isn’t particularly early I guess. 8.30. Who knows what time the household will surface.

Today will likely be a day of sport. Armchair sport. Gone are the days of rocking up for the annual President v Chairman’s XV at the rugby club with a bottle of port at half time and a few pints afterwards before walking home to a repeat Christmas dinner. Was always a great atmosphere in the clubhouse for that game. The rugby club moved to Nettleham a few years ago anyway. No longer a walk.

First item on my shopping list today is essence of kumquat. I don’t really expect to be able to buy some from waitrose. It’s just one of those joke ingredients I chuck in whenever I’m feeling a bit playful. Google it though and such a thing does exist. They use it in the making of orange liqueur n stuff like that. I have no need for it and won’t really be buying any.

Gonna do a biggish shop today though. After yesterday’s experience of Fosters having no beef bones left I figured I’d better get in early to Waitrose. Not that we will be going there particularly early. I won’t have the car before around eleven thirty. Just one of those things you have to put up with when you decide to not have your own car. Could get a taxi I know but it isn’t a biggie to wait until eleven thirtyish. Hopefully.

Just realised it’s a Friday. Feels like a Saturday.

Anyway got the shopping in. No EoK natch. No Epoisses in store so will need to source elsewhere. Me n Jose wandered round Waitrose bumping into people we know. The back of the shopping is broken, so to speak. Meat to get from Fosters on Monday and a few bouteilles plus a veg shop which THG is sorting.

Large turkeys in Waitrose were going for over a ton. Not bought one in years but I seem to remember paying sixty pounds or so. Gosh. Blimey. Wasn’t in the market for a large turkey anyways. Did make my annual purchase of TUC crackers. What’s not to like?

Chillin now in da shed before heading to the Strugs for the annual sole traders Christmas do.

7.30am. Still dark out but it feels as if I should be getting up. However it is still dark out so I am being offered no encouragement. 

Eventually made it downstairs to a bit of toast, half a grapefruit and a cuppa. The simple things in life. Good job I bought some more marmalade yesterday as we are now down to less than a scoop and that will have to be scraped from the bottom of the jar. #importanthingsinlifeyouneedtoknow

We did make marmalade once, some years ago now. I remember it taking ages to reduce to a state where it would set and then we made the mistake of putting it in large kilner jars. It would dry out before we finished it. Not made any since. They sell it in Waitrose. Marmalade.

Now waiting while the wind blows. Waiting for the storm to move on. We need to set a mainsail. Foreign lands to explore. Islands to discover. Flags to flutter. Fish to catch. Rum to drink. 

A sailor’s life is supposed to be a hell of a lot of fun, but when you’re a sailor take it from me you work like a son of a gun.

The wind today is largely WSW. Near enough prevailing. I have no particular use for this information. In the days of sail the wind direction was important. It feels right to know what the prevailing wind direction is. I learnt it in primary school in Wales.

In those days it rained every Sunday afternoon. Probably other days as well. Don’t remember it snowing much, even at Christmas. Those Christmases have shaped how we celebrate the occasion today. I chose the word ‘occasion’ rather than festival, or birthday of Christ. Whilst the purpose nowadays is indeed to celebrate the birthday I doubt many people dwell on the religious aspect. It’s a story that has always been there. We eat and drink too much and give each other presents.

Silent night! holy night!

Silent night! holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child;
Holy Infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!

Silent night! holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight;
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing: ‘Alleluia!
Christ the Saviour, is born!
Christ the Saviour, is born!

Silent night! holy night!
Son of God, love’s pure light,
Radiant, beams from thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!

It’s ten to five, it’s dark, and I’ve only just started putting pen to paper. The use of that phrase seems appropriate even though neither pen nor paper are involved. Everyone understands. I assume. I guess there could be gen z types who have never picked up a pen who will remain ignorant but they are not the target readership.

In reality I don’t have a target readership 🙂I write this stuff for meself and post on Facebook and philosopherontap just as “well someone might want to read it” kind of thing. No idea whether anyone reads philosopherontap. I don’t monitor site visits. It is my legacy that will eventually disappear, like we all do. The wayback machine may preserve it.

Things like visitor numbers used to be important to me but they ain’t no more. Not since a long time ago. trefor.net peaked at 27k unique visitors a month. It was of its time. You might ask why did I stop writing the blog when it attracted that level of readership. Reality is I kind of retired and figured that poetry and creative writing was far more important than packets. Still do. It is really a diary with a few bits thrown in just for kicks.

I’ve kind of retired at least twice. Now I just do stuff I like doing. At the mo I’m drinking a gin and tonic in the shed and listening to The Clash. Might watch a bit of Band of Brothers before going in and cooking the curry that’s in the freezer. 

THG would approve. Of the curry that is. From the freezer. She thinks I’m far to wasteful and is probs right.  I bought the Waitrose Chichen Jalfrezi because it was reduced so cheap, ish. It isn’t as good as the Charlie Bigham Chichen Jalfrezi but like I said it was cheap. We all like a barg. 

Note the Liverpudlian accent on the pronunciation of the word chicken. That’s THG’s influence. She is from around there.  Eermknowworrameanlike. Lob scouse, Anfield, Liverbuilding, Ferry across the Mersey, The Beatles.

Ten to midnight and we were back in our hotel room. What an evening! Planned for months. He didn’t disappoint. 

The Beatles and subsequently Paul McCartney have provided the musical backdrop of our lives. I recall listening to them on the wireless with mam at the age of about seven or eight when we lived in Cardiff. When I was at school I bought the complete set of singles. Might have been the number ones. John Lennon died during my first year at university. I woke up on the morning of my 19th birthday to the news and took the day off classes to listen to the back to back Beatles broadcast all day. 

I have most of the albums and many by Wings and have now seen Macca four times. Might be five. This gig will probably be the last we will see. At the age of 82 he has outlived most of his contemporaries. A real feat of longevity considering the sex and drugs and rock and roll age in which he flourished. There is hope for us all.

You can see why he still does it. Firstly he recognises a real clamour from his fans to see him perform. There was a bloke in the crowd at his 134th PM gig.  Then there is the huge outpouring of love from the audience directed directly at him on stage. Twenty three thousand people singing his songs. Cheering. He was visibly affected. I was affected. Everyone was affected. 

We had great tix. Row 12. Maybe 25m away. Just over the length of a cricket square. The sound was fantastic. The visual presentation amazing. I wish I could offer better adjectives. All a work of art. The fireworks and pyrotechnics for Live And Let Die had to be seen to be believed. You couldn’t have imagined it possible on an indoor stage. 

That’s enough gough. Nananananananaa. Let it be. We went back to our hotel tired but happy.

THG and I go our separate ways this morning. She heads west to Liverpool to visit family and I east to recover from five full on days of partying. Truth be told, when left alone at home it is unlikely that I’ll be having quiet nights on the sofa. There will probably be wine…

Before then, stopping off at the field of Sheff for a spot of lunch with Andy and Will. Catch ya later.

…

The sound of the trams. Clank n hoot.

…

I suppose before the advent of the laptop I’d probably have sat on a train reading the paper, or conversing with fellow passengers, were they amenable or interesting. Both. In the 1st Class carriage on the Liverpool Lime Street to Cleethorpes Trans Pennines Express there is nobody else to talk to. I do have a book but I’ve already read it a few times and can’t be bothered for the moment

Earlier, coat clad commuters scurried by the window of the hotel breakfast room bound unsmiling for their place of indenture. Inside the restaurant I passed a table a few times where two businessmen discussed, business: “clear brief to the RMs”, “ready to launch in January”. On another pass a laptop was open with an upside down pyramid on show with the word BRAND jumping out of the page. Curiosity peaked, I glanced momentarily in their direction at which point the talker paused in his stride before momentum took him forward.

Johnnies in the basement mixing up the medicine.

The slow train trundles. Picking up speed seems to be a gradual thing. No sudden jerks pushing passengers back into their seats in coach G for G Force. My seats reservation is for coach C but there is no coach C. The train network around here seems to have a certain sadness to it. A malaise that contrasts with the model sheep filled countryside through which the engines roar. Church spires command drystone hillsides. Evidence of industry through  valleys veins.

The anonymous hamlet of Chinley rolls effortlessly by, briefly in our thoughts but long forgotten.

We’ll meet again someday, on the avenue, tangled up in blue.

Tiny walkers step steadily along the river meadow below.

…

Sat at an out of the way table in the Sheffield Tap. Near enough to the bar to make it convenient. The train news is not so convenient. The next two trains to Lincoln have been cancelled. This means that the 16.38 will be heaving. The one after that is also cancelled. I have no choice although there is a transport of last resort called taxi. At least I’d be able to kip in a taxi.

Not getting a good vibe about trains in this part of the world. Makes me think LNER are actually quite good.

I am drinking Virtuous beer. This is the name of the brew and not an adjective suggesting it has high moral standards. An example of a virtuous person suggested by google is  “she considered herself very virtuous because she neither drank nor smoked”. Doesn’t seem consistent with beer but tbh google is just an algorithm. You should make up your own minds on the subject. I have. I’m on my second pint.

It’s quite interesting to watch people coming in to the ub. Most of them are en route somewhere though the occasional local makes an appearance. There is a large selection of ales and to watch an individual bloke walk up to the bar and order a specific beer feels culturally important. It’s what blokes do. Not all blokes. Just the generic bloke. Feels right. Certainly in a real ale pub in Sheffield. If this was a wine bar or a trendy bar in the South that would be different.

Bloke just walked in carrying one of those short woolly jacket/coats. It probably has a name but I know not. Girlfriend with him. They are smiling and having a good time.

Good job this is not Christmas Eve. Would be a nightmare trying to get home then. Stranded in Sheffield railway station. Someone would definitely have to bite the bullet and drive over to pick me up. THG I guess. She would be happy!

Anyway this is not Christmas Eve and I am not yet stranded. There is at least one train that will get me home. Wouldn’t be quite so bad if I was a little more mobile and able to cope with the push and shove of fighting my way on the train, barging little old ladies aside, to secure a seat, trampling over kids etc.

Feels as if the light is starting to fade outside. 4pm. 16:00hrs. Yanow. Thirty more minutes sat in the pub before I’ll look to moving to the platform. Will defo be dark by then. Deep midwinter. As long as I get a seat I’ll be ok.

Bespectacled young woman in combat trousers and a backpack enters, strides purposefully to the bar and studies the beer selection, leaning forward eyes slightly focussed. A man tries a sample of a beer and then orders a half pint. Fair enuff.

White haired old geezer in red and black lumberjack jacket has come in. He is either wearing a flat cap or beret. Can’t quite make it out and he has taken it off now that he is inside.

…

Sheffield to lincoln train rammed but I have a seat with a table and an empty seat next to me

Big crowd of people stood on platform but I asked member of staff where was best to stand and he pointed at an empty 15 m at the front. I was first on the train. It’s what you know innit.

Now tucking in to a (small) can of Thornbridge Jaipur 5.9% with a (small) packet of Pipers Cheddar and Onion crisps and listening to Sting Sending Out an SOS. Police. Seems unlikely I’ll be abel to make it to the on train toilet near term so I’ll have to take that into consideration when deciding on how many cans to open. No idea how many of these travellers are going all the way to Lincoln and therefore how busy the train will continue to be.

Sbeen a different to normal day. I will survive. 

When you are on a train from Sheffield to Lincoln all life is here. If only I could take a pic of everyone. Girl with false eyelashes, fake fur coat and a pink shopping bag with “LOVE” on the side. No idea who most of these people are or what their lives are like. What is a good life? Couple of musicians got on at Shireoaks. One with a guitar hard case and one with two soft jobs – one on his back and one in his hands.

The next station is Worksop. Fwiw. Enormous woman getting off here. She looks neither comfortable nor happy.

…

We went to see a musician. His songs represented what he was doing in life at different stages of his life.

Sunday morning sans Sunday Service. Switched it off without bothering to see how it sounded. Up earlier than might be considered normal on the Sabbath but we have things to do and places to go. 

Our journey across the Pennines takes in Sheffield where we change trains. I quite like the bit between Sheffield and the outskirts of Manchester. V pictureskew. The bit from Lincoln to Sheffield is boring and suburban Manchester itself quite unattractive.

Fortunately our hotel in Manchester Piccadilly is nobbut a short stroll from the station and a ten minute cab ride from the Coop Live Arena. As “commercial” hotels go, the Piccadilly Doubletree ain’t too bad. It has a handy enough bar and the breakfast is not as ordinary as some. I am fussy about hotel breakfasts. The Soho Hotel last week was top notch.

This will be my last time in a Hilton as a HHonors Diamond member. Another era come to a close. There have been a string of these era closures, my slide from gold to silver to bronze with BA being a notable one and the expiry of my US Global Entry status. Sokay. I have no plans to enter the USA again and have an emerging preference for ground transportation. I wouldn’t even think about a USA trip without Global Entry. It is a game changer.

Really could do with a few early nights following four big nights out on the trot. Snorrapnin today as we have tickets to see Macca and are unlikely to get back to the hotel before midnight. There’s always next Tuesday.

…

Not v comfortable the seats on this trane. A big sign opposite the platform says KEEP OFF THE TRACK. There is a penalty of £1,000 if you don’t comply with their wishes which have, as you can see, been expressed in no uncertain terms. The seats don’t recline and there is no table for me to rest my laptop. The laptop is therefore sat on my red bag on my knees which in itself is not that comfy. Hey…

My phone has lots of Paul McCartney and Beatles songs downloaded to keep me entertained on the journey. Ready for when THG and I have exhausted our conversation. This may never occur. I can always listen to them another time. I am a big fan. THG is an all.

We are on the 11.14 originating at Lincoln Central bound for Huddersfield via Sheffield. The Liverpudlian across the aisle has cracked open a Carlsberg just peeled from a four pack. The other three cans have been replaced in a Coop carrier bag alongside his other supplies intended to make the journey more bearable. I saw a bit of cake in there. Crisps. Our provisions are some home made cheese and pickle sandwiches and a bottle of water. Simple folk really. 

For clarification, the cheese isn’t home made. The pickle is and the sandwiches were assembled at home by THG herself. I’ve never made cheese although in the course of my life I have made bread, plum chutney (the pickle) and, when I was at infant school in Dolgellau, butter. 

That was almost before time began, in the days when we lived near the centre of the village. Mam and I would nip to the shop and buy a packet of crisps and a plastic cup full of lemonade. At home I would stir the milky coffee on the stovetop until it just boiled. Can’t imagine a four year old being given coffee nowadays.

…

Worra mare. The trains from Sheffield to Manchester. We were supposedly on the 12.41 but the one before that had been cancelled so there were two very busy trains worth of people trying to squeeze onto the one. Wasntapnin. Our ticket was valid for the next train so we retreated to the waiting room to catch the 13.11.

It was clear that the next train too was going to be rammed. Christmas shoppers, Manchester Derby and Paul McCartney gig boppers creating the perfect storm. Being a Liverpudlian THG has a certain attitude towards Manchester anyway and the train service certainly doesn’t help. Certainly not on this occasion.

Tref the experienced traveller instinct kicked in so I figured I’d buy a couple of first class tix for the journey to Manchester. Tref the inexperienced trainline app user accidentally bought two more full fare standard class tix and couldn’t work out how to change. Doh.

I figured I’d get the onboard manager to sort so when the train arrived we hopped on and dived into the first class section. That too was rammed and fully booked although not all the seats were taken. It might perhaps explain why I ended up with standard class tix. We just sat in two of them on the basis we would sort (negotiate 🙂) if the owners came along. They didn’t. What’s more neither did the guard so when leaving the station we just used our original tickets to get past the barriers and I got a refund for the unused full fare standard class. There is a god.

We are now settled into our nice enough large corner room on the fifth floor of the Doubletree sipping a cup of tea and recovering. 

Our Joe is a couple of hours behind us coming up from Laandan so we are chillin in the room awaiting his arrival. We have his room key. We also have some free drinks vouchers which we must surely spend on beer before the afternoon turns into evening and we head to the Coop Live Arena.

The only other negative about our eventual arrival is that we have chosen to stay on the day they finally decided to fix the lift (elevator to readers across the pond) once and for all. No idea what the problem was. Intermittent I think. Fear not, we were shown to the service lift and used that. This included a backroom tour of the never normally seen bits of the hotel.

The first class lounge at Kings Cross Stayshun is busy enough but only one functional coffee machine means there is a permanent queue at the drinks station in front of us. The taxi ride here took ten minutes as opposed to the hour it took getting from the station to the hotel on Wednesday. A heady combination of temporary traffic lights and the knock on effect of protesting farmers clogging up Whitehall with their tractors.

The streets of London this morning were full of people going about their Saturday morning activities. This felt in marked contrast to the previous evening where the brightly lit bars and restaurants thronged with revellers willing to fork out eight pounds fifty for a pint and fifty five quid for a not particularly interesting set meal at a popular curry house. Economic hardship does not appear to be on show here, the invisible homeless aside.

Now on the train and whiling my time away on Facebook. Just had a request to join a group called Trefor. I created this group years ago exclusively for people called Trefor. There are four of us. Every now and again someone whose name is not Trefor asks to join and I turn them down, natch. 

Looking at the membership this morning there seemed to be half a dozen non Trefs amongst the membership. Not sure how this happened. Anyway I’ve systematically banned them. Not sure how they sneaked in or even why they would want to be in the group. I guess it is understandable that people could have Trefor envy. If you know a Trefor you might want to put them in touch.

If you live in Trefor I guess you might want to belong to the group. This I understand. However the name is already bagsied for the aforementioned purpose so you need to think of another name for your community group. “The Group for People who live in Trefor” for example. Or Trefor the place not the Person. 

There isn’t much to Trefor the place. According to the great god google in the 2021 census  it had a population of 1,067. Everyone will mostly know everyone. I wonder if any of them are called Trefor. Trefor from Trefor. A bit like Major Major Major in Catch 22. Trefor Trefor, you know it’s a blast. 

If you’ve never been to Trefor it is worth a quick drive through. On the road between Caernarfon and Pwllheli (That’s Putheley to the ignorant amongst you – don’t admit to it) Take a pic in front of the sign and post it to my timeline 🙂