Sunday, 7 December 2014
Black dog or not
Sometimes when you walk through the woods, along the Fisherman's Path, on the way to the dunes, after crossing the golf course, it feels a little eerie. Early morning or at dusk, the light shining or fading through the trees, the stillness, the birds start to roost or just waking. Sometimes, you get the feeling of not being alone, but not surprising as it's a popular place to walk. Also there are many rabbits, squirrels and foxes about.
It's a different type of feeling, a feeling that there is someone or something there, a shiver running down your spine. There is a sound of a twig breaking underfoot, footsteps, and William dog gets a little spooked. Rabbits and squirrels making the most of the peace before or after the usual times for the dog walkers, cyclists and families making their way to the beach. No one else to be seen. There are many tales of a large black dog. Some recount the tale of a dog who was still waiting for his master who never returned from a fishing trip. Others tell of a huge black dog with demonic red eyes., supposedly to bring misfortune if you see them. Others relate this to the Viking History, Nordic Invaders who were called "black dogs" by the locals.
These tales weren't at the forefront of my mind when I was driving to work along Timms Lane. I saw what looked like a strangely larger than usual, Black Labrador towards the top of the road. My first thought was that it was a lost dog and as I got closer, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.
Was it a trick of the early morning light? I know there is a family with a couple of Newfoundlands nearby, had one escaped and then gone back home? They are not usually dogs that move so quickly or quietly, surely I would have noticed where such a large dog would have gone. The rational part of my brain kicked in, explaining the strange experience.
Or had I encountered the famous ghostly being..........................
(Glad I didn't see it's eyes if it was)!
Friday, 21 November 2014
My New Friend Alex
My New Friend Alex.
Today I met a new friend. His name is Alex. I was taking the train to attend for a minor medical procedure which meant I couldn't drive afterwards. Standing on the station platform I observed a man talking to a woman. He was carrying a sports hold all and a guitar in a well worn guitar bag. The woman hurried along the platform, it appeared that she wanted to get away from him and I noticed that he seemed to have a disability, probably some learning disability.
As the train approached, he turned around to me, grinning, showing his uneven teeth. He was wearing the green fleece jacket uniform worn by the rangers. I smiled at him and said "morning". I boarded the train and went into an empty carriage apart from another person. A man wearing a suit who was more than likely on his way to work.
The man in the green jacket, and the guitar, boarded the train and sat next to me, even though there were many empty seats. I thought to myself "I always attract them".
"Hello, my name is Alex, what's your name?" he said. Speaking quickly and grinning from ear to ear. He spoke so fast as though he couldn't contain his excitement and the words would come out quick enough. "Hello, my name is Audrey" I replied and he shook my hand enthusiastically. I asked him if he played the guitar, and he told me that he had learned to play when he left school, which was for people with learning disabilities. He told me he could play three Everley Brothers songs and asked if I knew how to play the guitar. I told him that I did try to learn but it hurt my fingers and I could play the piano. When I told him I wasn't that good and he could probably play guitar far better than I could play piano, he laughed and grinned from ear to ear. The conversation continued. He was working as a volunteer for the National Trust with the Rangers, telling me he worked in the Forest and he would give the other workers a song after lunch. I would imagine that Alex would be a joy to have around the workplace. He was so enthusiastic about going to work. He oozed happiness.
We chatted for only about 10 minutes as he needed to get off the train at the next stop. He shook my hand to say goodbye and kissed me on each hand before leaving the train, unable to hide his happiness at meeting a new friend and having the opportunity to go to work.
Tears pricked my eyes, observing how the simple things had made him so happy and also at my own guilt for my feelings of fear. If only everyone viewed the world as Alex does. No barriers, he had not judged me as I had judged him. To see the person, the ability and not the disability.
Today I met a new friend. His name is Alex. I was taking the train to attend for a minor medical procedure which meant I couldn't drive afterwards. Standing on the station platform I observed a man talking to a woman. He was carrying a sports hold all and a guitar in a well worn guitar bag. The woman hurried along the platform, it appeared that she wanted to get away from him and I noticed that he seemed to have a disability, probably some learning disability.
As the train approached, he turned around to me, grinning, showing his uneven teeth. He was wearing the green fleece jacket uniform worn by the rangers. I smiled at him and said "morning". I boarded the train and went into an empty carriage apart from another person. A man wearing a suit who was more than likely on his way to work.
The man in the green jacket, and the guitar, boarded the train and sat next to me, even though there were many empty seats. I thought to myself "I always attract them".
"Hello, my name is Alex, what's your name?" he said. Speaking quickly and grinning from ear to ear. He spoke so fast as though he couldn't contain his excitement and the words would come out quick enough. "Hello, my name is Audrey" I replied and he shook my hand enthusiastically. I asked him if he played the guitar, and he told me that he had learned to play when he left school, which was for people with learning disabilities. He told me he could play three Everley Brothers songs and asked if I knew how to play the guitar. I told him that I did try to learn but it hurt my fingers and I could play the piano. When I told him I wasn't that good and he could probably play guitar far better than I could play piano, he laughed and grinned from ear to ear. The conversation continued. He was working as a volunteer for the National Trust with the Rangers, telling me he worked in the Forest and he would give the other workers a song after lunch. I would imagine that Alex would be a joy to have around the workplace. He was so enthusiastic about going to work. He oozed happiness.
We chatted for only about 10 minutes as he needed to get off the train at the next stop. He shook my hand to say goodbye and kissed me on each hand before leaving the train, unable to hide his happiness at meeting a new friend and having the opportunity to go to work.
Tears pricked my eyes, observing how the simple things had made him so happy and also at my own guilt for my feelings of fear. If only everyone viewed the world as Alex does. No barriers, he had not judged me as I had judged him. To see the person, the ability and not the disability.
Night Before Christmas Alternative
Night Before Christmas Alternative
"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse"
'Twas the night before Christmas and we went to the pub
To have a few beers and plenty of grub
'Twas the night before Christmas and they were coming back
From fighting in Afghanistan and duty in Iraq
'Twas the night before Christmas and we went to sing
Carols in Church and to hear the bells ring
'Twas the night before Christmas just me and you
Warm by the fire with our dinner for two
'Twas the night before Christmas with the children in bed
Listening for sleigh bells and a big man in red
'Twas the night before Christmas and she was alone
No friends or family to call her own
'Twas the night before Christmas and he was so cold
A night on the streets is no place for the old
'Twas the night before Christmas and she knocked on the door
Come share our meal we have plenty more
'Twas the night before Christmas no longer alone
Invited to share some one else's home
'Twas the night before Christmas and he made him warm
A thick coat and soup kept him from harm
On the night before Christmas remember the needy
Rise above glutton and not be greedy
The reward for giving is far greater to see
To help others means more to you and to me
Audrey Cushion
"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse"
'Twas the night before Christmas and we went to the pub
To have a few beers and plenty of grub
'Twas the night before Christmas and they were coming back
From fighting in Afghanistan and duty in Iraq
'Twas the night before Christmas and we went to sing
Carols in Church and to hear the bells ring
'Twas the night before Christmas just me and you
Warm by the fire with our dinner for two
'Twas the night before Christmas with the children in bed
Listening for sleigh bells and a big man in red
'Twas the night before Christmas and she was alone
No friends or family to call her own
'Twas the night before Christmas and he was so cold
A night on the streets is no place for the old
'Twas the night before Christmas and she knocked on the door
Come share our meal we have plenty more
'Twas the night before Christmas no longer alone
Invited to share some one else's home
'Twas the night before Christmas and he made him warm
A thick coat and soup kept him from harm
On the night before Christmas remember the needy
Rise above glutton and not be greedy
The reward for giving is far greater to see
To help others means more to you and to me
Audrey Cushion
Monday, 3 November 2014
Riding along on the crest of a wave.
"Riding Along on the Crest of a Wave (and the sun is in the sky)"
So, it was the holiday we had waited almost a year for. Not the first cruise but the first one sailing from Southampton. On board the Oceana and after a couple of rough days through the Bay of Biscay we arrived at Funchal, Madeira just before dawn. What a sight from our cabin window. The island looked like a glorious, giant, fat, Christmas tree, lit up against the pre dawn sky. The sun rose into a beautiful cloudless sky an we were off to experience the delights of this pretty island. The standard ride on the cable car taking in the botanic gardens with giant angel trumpet plants, beautiful, but deadly if ingested, and the ride down on the toboggan.
"Scream if you want to go faster"
More sightseeing and then finishing off with the obligatory wine tasting at Blandy's. More of a brandy than a wine but it certainly had a kick to it.
Back on the ship, playing posh, dressing for dinner. Excellent cuisine and enjoying the evening entertainment of a fairly decent Beatles tribute band and a "resident" band at our favourite hang out the "Yacht and Compass".
We arrived at La Palma the following lunchtime, in the wake of a storm. All tourists were confined to the port of Santa Cruz as the island was on yellow alert for landslides. We wandered around the town enjoying the Canarian sunshine and this relatively unspoilt and quiet resort against the backdrop of the volcanic landscape. The mist was gathering over then mountains so we returned to the ship and sat on deck watching the clouds gather with the distant roar of thunder, waiting to see the spectacular flashes of lighting across the top ridges of the volcanoes.
We set sail again on our way to sunny Gran Canaria. A old farmer from Wiltshire and an old farmer from Cornwall were amongst our travelling companions. Both enjoying a few too many gin and tonics by the pool, by the looks of things. Wrinkled from years of working outdoors and brown from the sun. They were always arguing about who knew the most about tractors (yes, honestly). Saying they were born on a tractor and such like, trying to out do one another. The Wiltshire farmer, looking for some additional support, (and more drunk than the other), turned to me and said "tell im you got a combine 'arverstor, ask 'im if 'es got one" I laughed at this bizarre request and told him there wasn't much call for combine harvesters in Liverpool, at which point they both burst out laughing saying something about Liverpool people always having an answer. I honestly didn't think it was that funny!
The visits to Gran Canaria and Lanzarote reminded me of how much I like these, fascinating, weird, volcanic islands with their farms reliant on the lava ash to retain moisture, aloe vera, cactus and permanent warm climate. We sat in the beach in Arricefe and of course two minutes later I was paddling in the Atlantic Ocean feeling the sand between my toes and the cool water of the waves lapping against my ankles before soaking the bottom of my skirt. I looked like a typical Brit abroad, but I didn't care, I had to make sure I enjoyed that feeling before we set sail again.
Sitting on the beach, watching the waves, I noticed something different, concentrating hard I tried to see what it was. Then, I realised, plop, plop, plop. It was dolphins, jumping, their distinctive arched jumps and black against the steel blue sea. This made my whole trip worthwhile. A wonderful sight to see them so close, but far enough away to enjoy their natural environment. No camera, no pictures but a sight I always treasure, whenever I have had the privilege to see theses amazing creatures.
Sailing to Lisbon we were treated to this wonderful sight a number if times. I suppose it was highly entertaining for others when I was in the pool and the captain announced a sighting on the starboard site. I shot out if the pool, like A rocket, dripping wet and ran to the side of the ship to see them.
The dolphins came quite close to the ship, putting on their own show then disappearing off into the ocean wilderness that is home. Anyone seeing how fast they swim, how high they jump and how far they travel would realise how wrong it is to coop them up in a man made pool with no where to go. It is like sending them to prison and locking them in a tiny cell. Swimming with dolphins is OK if they are in the ocean and choose to make friends before going on their merry, lively way but never in a man made marina.
We were due to sail into Lisbon just after dawn. We set the alarm and went to the front of ship to see the magnificent sight of bridge over the river Tagus and the sun rising behind the statue of Jesus. Lisbon didn't disappoint us with its magnificent buildings, churches, and tuc tuc taxis.
We sailed back to Southampton with the Bay of Biscay unnaturally calm. Waves taking on a herringbone pattern and many sightings of dolphins. There was a rumour of a whale sighting, but this was unconfirmed, although they are often seen around the Bay of Biscay. I am sure if they wanted to be see I would have seen them.
So, it was the holiday we had waited almost a year for. Not the first cruise but the first one sailing from Southampton. On board the Oceana and after a couple of rough days through the Bay of Biscay we arrived at Funchal, Madeira just before dawn. What a sight from our cabin window. The island looked like a glorious, giant, fat, Christmas tree, lit up against the pre dawn sky. The sun rose into a beautiful cloudless sky an we were off to experience the delights of this pretty island. The standard ride on the cable car taking in the botanic gardens with giant angel trumpet plants, beautiful, but deadly if ingested, and the ride down on the toboggan.
"Scream if you want to go faster"
More sightseeing and then finishing off with the obligatory wine tasting at Blandy's. More of a brandy than a wine but it certainly had a kick to it.
Back on the ship, playing posh, dressing for dinner. Excellent cuisine and enjoying the evening entertainment of a fairly decent Beatles tribute band and a "resident" band at our favourite hang out the "Yacht and Compass".
We arrived at La Palma the following lunchtime, in the wake of a storm. All tourists were confined to the port of Santa Cruz as the island was on yellow alert for landslides. We wandered around the town enjoying the Canarian sunshine and this relatively unspoilt and quiet resort against the backdrop of the volcanic landscape. The mist was gathering over then mountains so we returned to the ship and sat on deck watching the clouds gather with the distant roar of thunder, waiting to see the spectacular flashes of lighting across the top ridges of the volcanoes.
We set sail again on our way to sunny Gran Canaria. A old farmer from Wiltshire and an old farmer from Cornwall were amongst our travelling companions. Both enjoying a few too many gin and tonics by the pool, by the looks of things. Wrinkled from years of working outdoors and brown from the sun. They were always arguing about who knew the most about tractors (yes, honestly). Saying they were born on a tractor and such like, trying to out do one another. The Wiltshire farmer, looking for some additional support, (and more drunk than the other), turned to me and said "tell im you got a combine 'arverstor, ask 'im if 'es got one" I laughed at this bizarre request and told him there wasn't much call for combine harvesters in Liverpool, at which point they both burst out laughing saying something about Liverpool people always having an answer. I honestly didn't think it was that funny!
The visits to Gran Canaria and Lanzarote reminded me of how much I like these, fascinating, weird, volcanic islands with their farms reliant on the lava ash to retain moisture, aloe vera, cactus and permanent warm climate. We sat in the beach in Arricefe and of course two minutes later I was paddling in the Atlantic Ocean feeling the sand between my toes and the cool water of the waves lapping against my ankles before soaking the bottom of my skirt. I looked like a typical Brit abroad, but I didn't care, I had to make sure I enjoyed that feeling before we set sail again.
Sitting on the beach, watching the waves, I noticed something different, concentrating hard I tried to see what it was. Then, I realised, plop, plop, plop. It was dolphins, jumping, their distinctive arched jumps and black against the steel blue sea. This made my whole trip worthwhile. A wonderful sight to see them so close, but far enough away to enjoy their natural environment. No camera, no pictures but a sight I always treasure, whenever I have had the privilege to see theses amazing creatures.
Sailing to Lisbon we were treated to this wonderful sight a number if times. I suppose it was highly entertaining for others when I was in the pool and the captain announced a sighting on the starboard site. I shot out if the pool, like A rocket, dripping wet and ran to the side of the ship to see them.
The dolphins came quite close to the ship, putting on their own show then disappearing off into the ocean wilderness that is home. Anyone seeing how fast they swim, how high they jump and how far they travel would realise how wrong it is to coop them up in a man made pool with no where to go. It is like sending them to prison and locking them in a tiny cell. Swimming with dolphins is OK if they are in the ocean and choose to make friends before going on their merry, lively way but never in a man made marina.
We were due to sail into Lisbon just after dawn. We set the alarm and went to the front of ship to see the magnificent sight of bridge over the river Tagus and the sun rising behind the statue of Jesus. Lisbon didn't disappoint us with its magnificent buildings, churches, and tuc tuc taxis.
We sailed back to Southampton with the Bay of Biscay unnaturally calm. Waves taking on a herringbone pattern and many sightings of dolphins. There was a rumour of a whale sighting, but this was unconfirmed, although they are often seen around the Bay of Biscay. I am sure if they wanted to be see I would have seen them.
Wednesday, 24 September 2014
Glamping not Camping
Glamping not Camping
The end of the summer, nights starting to get gradually darker but still light enough to enjoy those last few hours of evening sunshine. There is something about crossing the border, that fills you with the feeling of a different place. The landscape becomes more rugged and natural, Galloway Hills and Forest, a sense of calm coupled with excitement and a weird sense of belonging.
We decided to follow some of the Burns trail. Camping on the shores of the Solway Firth so that we could follow some of the path of Scotland's famous son. See at first hand the inspiration for some of his works. Wordsworth had the Lake District and Burns had Dumfries and Galloway.
The end of the summer, nights starting to get gradually darker but still light enough to enjoy those last few hours of evening sunshine. There is something about crossing the border, that fills you with the feeling of a different place. The landscape becomes more rugged and natural, Galloway Hills and Forest, a sense of calm coupled with excitement and a weird sense of belonging.
We decided to follow some of the Burns trail. Camping on the shores of the Solway Firth so that we could follow some of the path of Scotland's famous son. See at first hand the inspiration for some of his works. Wordsworth had the Lake District and Burns had Dumfries and Galloway.
Thursday, 24 July 2014
Bats
Bats
It's dusk, the heat of the day has brought out the midges which are hovering under the trees in hundreds, if not thousands. Drawn to the house by the lighted room. The doors and windows need to be closed over to stop them coming in.
Then , there they were, one or two at first, flying, fluttering like a small bird, between the house and the trees. Moving quickly, silently, but disturbing the evening air and trees with their movement, never still long enough to examine them closely, or take a photograph. Enjoying their evening feast.
Where do they live during the day? Who knows what neighbours we have in our trees. Hidden by the leaves during daylight. Coming to life in the warm evening air as the sun sets and the world starts to fall silent.
It's dusk, the heat of the day has brought out the midges which are hovering under the trees in hundreds, if not thousands. Drawn to the house by the lighted room. The doors and windows need to be closed over to stop them coming in.
Then , there they were, one or two at first, flying, fluttering like a small bird, between the house and the trees. Moving quickly, silently, but disturbing the evening air and trees with their movement, never still long enough to examine them closely, or take a photograph. Enjoying their evening feast.
Where do they live during the day? Who knows what neighbours we have in our trees. Hidden by the leaves during daylight. Coming to life in the warm evening air as the sun sets and the world starts to fall silent.
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Ella's Coat, omnibus and covered statues.
Versailles, Ella's coat and sailing on the Seine.
Six ladies of a certain age, away for the weekend. We had boarded the coach giggling like schoolgirls, happy for a weekend away from the busyness of daily life. Working in stressful jobs all needing a break from the life events that had taken their toll on resilience and energy. It was (and still is) a regular occurrence to have a few days of "letting your soft out".
The journey to Paris was by coach via the Eurotunnel, a long journey from Liverpool. Travelling through the night. It was a journey that passed quickly for a group of friends who needed to catch up on gossip, news and all of recent events. That, involved talking all the way, for hours on end. Tired from the journey we disembarked the coach near to the Eiffel Tower ready to take up our accommodation for the weekend. We boarded the MS River Cruiser ready to set sail along the Seine taking in the Parisian sights on the way to stop off for the Palace of Versailles the next day.
A nights rest and all were refreshed ready for the days adventure. Off to the Palace of Versailles to marvel at the famous Hall of Mirrors. A horse drawn omnibus had been booked to take us around the grounds to admire the beauty of the manicured grounds and amazing statues.
It was February, a cold snap had arrived and the cold air had the feel and promise of snowfall coming. Sure enough, as we arrived at Versailles, the first flakes of snow were falling on the cobbles. We made our way gingerly towards the palace as the cobbles were slippery with the light covering of snow. Then, all of a sudden, A slipped, and lost her balance falling heavily onto the slippery and wet cobbled roadway. Helped up, embarrassed by the inability to stay upright, putting on a brave face and trying to ignore the pain. She was now being propped up by two of the others, we all continued towards the house. Normally we would have been in fits of giggles but it wasn't hard to see that A was badly hurt by the fall, so any rising mirth was suppressed.
Once inside we marvelled at the beautiful, paintings, decor and opulence. Off then to the hall of mirrors only to find out that it was closed off for refurbishment. Disappointed we made our way to the pick up point for the omnibus ride.
Shiny black horses pulled a black open top carriage which was rather funereal looking. The driver was wearing a black frock coat and had a long whip. I thought that he looked like the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
The snow had stopped but it was freezing cold and we huddled together to keep warm. The carriage set off around the grounds, flurries of snow falling intermittently. Teeth chattering we wondered why on earth we had booked such a trip. All of the statues and topiary were covered to prevent damage from the winter frost and the fountains had been turned off to prevent them from freezing. So, there was nothing to see. The horses hooves were clip clopping on the icy paths, when there was a crunching noise and the carriage leant to one side, almost tipping over. One if the wheels had fallen off the omnibus. We descended from the stricken carriage and waited in the freezing cold for a replacement to take us back to our coach. We were now numb with the cold. Our coach driver, when he had stopped laughing long enough after hearing our tale, made us coffee and shared his precious, well hidden, bottle of emergency brandy.
Back on our comfortable vessel we thawed out and enjoyed the comfort of the upgraded cabins. Smugly observing those who had the lower graded, lower deck accommodation stating "we used to be down there" and "I wonder what poor people are doing today". That's what a small upgrade does. It gives a feeling of smug superiority.
Next day we sailed back to Paris to enjoy the famous sights and travel to Sacre Coeur Basilica via the Metro. Directions were asked for in what can only be described as grammar school French, but we were understood and were understanding of the instructions given by a well presented French lady. A change in the weather resulted in a pleasant day with a promise of pre spring sunshine. We spent our time enjoying the entertainment and street artists of the cultural quarter, before finally entering the Basilica to admire the beauty if this fine building.
We embraced the serenity, each having our own thoughts and prayers. Remembering loved ones and praying for those needing some spiritual intervention, lighting the candles on the alters. Suddenly, P announced she could smell burning. E responded that of course she could, it was the candles. "No"said P "your coat is on fire" as the smoke came up from the sleeve of E's coat. "Be Jaysus"said E, her native Irish accent becoming more pronounced as she battered the singed sleeve to ensure it didn't burst into flames completely. "Me coats, on fire an I gave more to St Anthony, than St Theresa, I put a Euro in that box." Serenity turned to chaos and we quickly left unable to contain the hysterical laugher any longer.
We stopped at an Artisan cafe for coffee, still laughing hysterically at E's singed coat. Still smelling of that distinctive smell of singed faux fur. F had descended to the ladies toilet which was down a small flight of stairs, quickly followed by the others, one by one. "F" said A "have you noticed the drawings on the walls?" "Yes they are very good" said F "unusual". "Mm certainly are, they are all cartoons of copulating couples, in some very strange positions". Fits of laughter again, we made a hasty retreat back to the Metro and the banks of the Seine where our river cruiser was docked.
After dinner it was decided that we would enjoy Paris by night and take a boat trip along the river to see the Notre Dame Cathedral. A dark place to go inside, but Gothic splendour when viewed from the river. As darkness fell, so did the temperature and the freezing cold air howled through the tourist boat. Nothing much to see in the pitch black and freezing cold. Notre Dame was merely a black shadow against an even blacker sky, broken up only by the twinkling stars. Thankfully it was a short trip and we disembarked to head for the magical carousel. Those bobby horses are so cold. The coldness of the metal could be felt through winter coats and trousers. We didn't care, we rode merrily, bobbing up and down, round and round to the tunes of the brightly lit carousel. Laughing and enjoying our last night in Paris before the long journey home.
On the way home we stopped at the obligatory Cash and Carry to buy duty free goods to take home. Various wines and cheeses were purchased with F buying a bottle of finest Olive oil in a glass bottle shaped like the Eiffel Tower. The bottle was carefully nursed for the whole 18 hours of the journey. We all alighted the coach at the Liverpool Bus Station, collecting our luggage from the hold. Oops, the bottle of olive oil slipped through F's hands and smashed on road. A slimy, slippery olive oil lake was now formed and the oil would never be enjoyed in a Liverpool kitchen. With looks of dismay, we said good bye to the last remnant of our trip but to each other knowing we would be doing more of the same, some time soon.
Letting your soft out is essential, to keep you sane, and we would dine out recalling the tales of burnt coats and crashed omnibuses for years to come. It didn't matter about the cold, or covered statues, all that mattered was the bond between like minded friends who appreciated each other's company and the experience.
Six ladies of a certain age, away for the weekend. We had boarded the coach giggling like schoolgirls, happy for a weekend away from the busyness of daily life. Working in stressful jobs all needing a break from the life events that had taken their toll on resilience and energy. It was (and still is) a regular occurrence to have a few days of "letting your soft out".
The journey to Paris was by coach via the Eurotunnel, a long journey from Liverpool. Travelling through the night. It was a journey that passed quickly for a group of friends who needed to catch up on gossip, news and all of recent events. That, involved talking all the way, for hours on end. Tired from the journey we disembarked the coach near to the Eiffel Tower ready to take up our accommodation for the weekend. We boarded the MS River Cruiser ready to set sail along the Seine taking in the Parisian sights on the way to stop off for the Palace of Versailles the next day.
A nights rest and all were refreshed ready for the days adventure. Off to the Palace of Versailles to marvel at the famous Hall of Mirrors. A horse drawn omnibus had been booked to take us around the grounds to admire the beauty of the manicured grounds and amazing statues.
It was February, a cold snap had arrived and the cold air had the feel and promise of snowfall coming. Sure enough, as we arrived at Versailles, the first flakes of snow were falling on the cobbles. We made our way gingerly towards the palace as the cobbles were slippery with the light covering of snow. Then, all of a sudden, A slipped, and lost her balance falling heavily onto the slippery and wet cobbled roadway. Helped up, embarrassed by the inability to stay upright, putting on a brave face and trying to ignore the pain. She was now being propped up by two of the others, we all continued towards the house. Normally we would have been in fits of giggles but it wasn't hard to see that A was badly hurt by the fall, so any rising mirth was suppressed.
Once inside we marvelled at the beautiful, paintings, decor and opulence. Off then to the hall of mirrors only to find out that it was closed off for refurbishment. Disappointed we made our way to the pick up point for the omnibus ride.
Shiny black horses pulled a black open top carriage which was rather funereal looking. The driver was wearing a black frock coat and had a long whip. I thought that he looked like the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
The snow had stopped but it was freezing cold and we huddled together to keep warm. The carriage set off around the grounds, flurries of snow falling intermittently. Teeth chattering we wondered why on earth we had booked such a trip. All of the statues and topiary were covered to prevent damage from the winter frost and the fountains had been turned off to prevent them from freezing. So, there was nothing to see. The horses hooves were clip clopping on the icy paths, when there was a crunching noise and the carriage leant to one side, almost tipping over. One if the wheels had fallen off the omnibus. We descended from the stricken carriage and waited in the freezing cold for a replacement to take us back to our coach. We were now numb with the cold. Our coach driver, when he had stopped laughing long enough after hearing our tale, made us coffee and shared his precious, well hidden, bottle of emergency brandy.
Back on our comfortable vessel we thawed out and enjoyed the comfort of the upgraded cabins. Smugly observing those who had the lower graded, lower deck accommodation stating "we used to be down there" and "I wonder what poor people are doing today". That's what a small upgrade does. It gives a feeling of smug superiority.
Next day we sailed back to Paris to enjoy the famous sights and travel to Sacre Coeur Basilica via the Metro. Directions were asked for in what can only be described as grammar school French, but we were understood and were understanding of the instructions given by a well presented French lady. A change in the weather resulted in a pleasant day with a promise of pre spring sunshine. We spent our time enjoying the entertainment and street artists of the cultural quarter, before finally entering the Basilica to admire the beauty if this fine building.
We embraced the serenity, each having our own thoughts and prayers. Remembering loved ones and praying for those needing some spiritual intervention, lighting the candles on the alters. Suddenly, P announced she could smell burning. E responded that of course she could, it was the candles. "No"said P "your coat is on fire" as the smoke came up from the sleeve of E's coat. "Be Jaysus"said E, her native Irish accent becoming more pronounced as she battered the singed sleeve to ensure it didn't burst into flames completely. "Me coats, on fire an I gave more to St Anthony, than St Theresa, I put a Euro in that box." Serenity turned to chaos and we quickly left unable to contain the hysterical laugher any longer.
We stopped at an Artisan cafe for coffee, still laughing hysterically at E's singed coat. Still smelling of that distinctive smell of singed faux fur. F had descended to the ladies toilet which was down a small flight of stairs, quickly followed by the others, one by one. "F" said A "have you noticed the drawings on the walls?" "Yes they are very good" said F "unusual". "Mm certainly are, they are all cartoons of copulating couples, in some very strange positions". Fits of laughter again, we made a hasty retreat back to the Metro and the banks of the Seine where our river cruiser was docked.
After dinner it was decided that we would enjoy Paris by night and take a boat trip along the river to see the Notre Dame Cathedral. A dark place to go inside, but Gothic splendour when viewed from the river. As darkness fell, so did the temperature and the freezing cold air howled through the tourist boat. Nothing much to see in the pitch black and freezing cold. Notre Dame was merely a black shadow against an even blacker sky, broken up only by the twinkling stars. Thankfully it was a short trip and we disembarked to head for the magical carousel. Those bobby horses are so cold. The coldness of the metal could be felt through winter coats and trousers. We didn't care, we rode merrily, bobbing up and down, round and round to the tunes of the brightly lit carousel. Laughing and enjoying our last night in Paris before the long journey home.
On the way home we stopped at the obligatory Cash and Carry to buy duty free goods to take home. Various wines and cheeses were purchased with F buying a bottle of finest Olive oil in a glass bottle shaped like the Eiffel Tower. The bottle was carefully nursed for the whole 18 hours of the journey. We all alighted the coach at the Liverpool Bus Station, collecting our luggage from the hold. Oops, the bottle of olive oil slipped through F's hands and smashed on road. A slimy, slippery olive oil lake was now formed and the oil would never be enjoyed in a Liverpool kitchen. With looks of dismay, we said good bye to the last remnant of our trip but to each other knowing we would be doing more of the same, some time soon.
Letting your soft out is essential, to keep you sane, and we would dine out recalling the tales of burnt coats and crashed omnibuses for years to come. It didn't matter about the cold, or covered statues, all that mattered was the bond between like minded friends who appreciated each other's company and the experience.
Saturday, 14 June 2014
Cow stories
Cow Stories.
I quite like cows. They have soft brown noses and eyes that look at you with a cross between an air of curiosity, fear and disgruntlement at being disturbed. They also scare me just a little. Mainly down to their size. I would never want one to fall on me.
I am a seasoned rambler. Having walked literally hundreds of miles through fields and woodland over the years and have never found a herd of cows particularly daunting. Always follow the country code, stick to the paths and close any gates.
Given my cow experiences I wonder if they sense that somehow they can give their fellow herd members signals to show that they are up for a laugh at my expense.
It all started one night driving home over The Moss when there was an eerie sort of something further down the road in the distance. They looked like cats eyes, but higher up. And then I realised! It was a herd of cows across the road heading towards the car. Oh my goodness, this is a scary sight in the pitch black. The cows looked even bigger in the dark. Hazards on, I stopped the car. We were the only car on the road but just in case another vehicle came hurtling along into the herd. Then sure enough some numpty thought he'd overtake, slamming the car brakes when he realised why I had to stop. Luckily no cows were hurt. The cows were advancing towards the cars. Then arrived a very tired and disgruntled farmer with a couple of Collies and the cows were herded safely back in the field. Saved.
The next cow incident was during an innocent walk in the Douglas Valley near Parbold where we needed to cross a field to get to the Fairie Glen. We arrived via the public footpath which then crossed the field. A route we had taken many times before. There was a herd of cows and they looked quite menacing in a cow sort of way. We decided it was OK as they would move case went towards them as this is what usually happens. Three walkers and two small dogs. Suddenly, I really didn't feel comfortable, something wasn't right but knew that we needed to get to the opposite side of the field. Then the farmer arrived, told us to stay back, and cows were herded on to the next field. Saved again but wonder why we were apprehensive. We will never know, we just continued on to the Fairie Glen. Saved again.
You would think we would know by now not to brave these situations and just take a normal route, nothing too far from the beaten track. Well sort of. It was a lovely summers evening and we were walking our dogs along the Fishermans Path near to where we live. The Heath is accessible through a kissing gate and a stile. The sign warns people to keep dogs on a lead as there is livestock grazing. This is fine, we had done this many times before. The cattle and sheep have usually kept their distance as we walked along the perimeter footpaths of The Heath with our two dogs safely on a lead. As we walked along, we discussed the recent newspaper article about the woman who had been crushed to death by a herd of stampeding cows and jokingly hoped that it wouldn't happen to us.
Then we saw it. Coming towards us. That cow was GALLOPING!! Now joined by two of her friends. This was the day that I found out that cows can gallop at quite some speed. I yelled to my husband RUN!! I turned and ran as fast as my legs would go. I never run anywhere but I ran like the wind. Not looking back to check if Tony and the William dog were behind. I threw Penny dog over the stile and leapt over to safety, quickly followed by the others. We stopped, out of breath and laughing at the crazy experience. A man with a dog was the other side of the stile about to go in to the Heath. I told him we had been chased by cows. He laughed, looked at me like I was crazy, and carried on over the stile. A few minutes later he was back, oh I wonder why!! I just smiled and thought to myself "told you so". I'd like to say that I avoid fields of cows but it's impossible if you enjoy a good walk, sooner or later the public footpath will cross a field of cows. if you are a rambler it goes with the territory.
Apparently, it is when they have calves that they become over protective and bordering on aggressive. They can't be blamed for protecting their babies.
And I still like their soft brown cow eyes. Have you seen cows eyelashes they are really thick and long?
I quite like cows. They have soft brown noses and eyes that look at you with a cross between an air of curiosity, fear and disgruntlement at being disturbed. They also scare me just a little. Mainly down to their size. I would never want one to fall on me.
I am a seasoned rambler. Having walked literally hundreds of miles through fields and woodland over the years and have never found a herd of cows particularly daunting. Always follow the country code, stick to the paths and close any gates.
Given my cow experiences I wonder if they sense that somehow they can give their fellow herd members signals to show that they are up for a laugh at my expense.
It all started one night driving home over The Moss when there was an eerie sort of something further down the road in the distance. They looked like cats eyes, but higher up. And then I realised! It was a herd of cows across the road heading towards the car. Oh my goodness, this is a scary sight in the pitch black. The cows looked even bigger in the dark. Hazards on, I stopped the car. We were the only car on the road but just in case another vehicle came hurtling along into the herd. Then sure enough some numpty thought he'd overtake, slamming the car brakes when he realised why I had to stop. Luckily no cows were hurt. The cows were advancing towards the cars. Then arrived a very tired and disgruntled farmer with a couple of Collies and the cows were herded safely back in the field. Saved.
The next cow incident was during an innocent walk in the Douglas Valley near Parbold where we needed to cross a field to get to the Fairie Glen. We arrived via the public footpath which then crossed the field. A route we had taken many times before. There was a herd of cows and they looked quite menacing in a cow sort of way. We decided it was OK as they would move case went towards them as this is what usually happens. Three walkers and two small dogs. Suddenly, I really didn't feel comfortable, something wasn't right but knew that we needed to get to the opposite side of the field. Then the farmer arrived, told us to stay back, and cows were herded on to the next field. Saved again but wonder why we were apprehensive. We will never know, we just continued on to the Fairie Glen. Saved again.
You would think we would know by now not to brave these situations and just take a normal route, nothing too far from the beaten track. Well sort of. It was a lovely summers evening and we were walking our dogs along the Fishermans Path near to where we live. The Heath is accessible through a kissing gate and a stile. The sign warns people to keep dogs on a lead as there is livestock grazing. This is fine, we had done this many times before. The cattle and sheep have usually kept their distance as we walked along the perimeter footpaths of The Heath with our two dogs safely on a lead. As we walked along, we discussed the recent newspaper article about the woman who had been crushed to death by a herd of stampeding cows and jokingly hoped that it wouldn't happen to us.
Then we saw it. Coming towards us. That cow was GALLOPING!! Now joined by two of her friends. This was the day that I found out that cows can gallop at quite some speed. I yelled to my husband RUN!! I turned and ran as fast as my legs would go. I never run anywhere but I ran like the wind. Not looking back to check if Tony and the William dog were behind. I threw Penny dog over the stile and leapt over to safety, quickly followed by the others. We stopped, out of breath and laughing at the crazy experience. A man with a dog was the other side of the stile about to go in to the Heath. I told him we had been chased by cows. He laughed, looked at me like I was crazy, and carried on over the stile. A few minutes later he was back, oh I wonder why!! I just smiled and thought to myself "told you so". I'd like to say that I avoid fields of cows but it's impossible if you enjoy a good walk, sooner or later the public footpath will cross a field of cows. if you are a rambler it goes with the territory.
Apparently, it is when they have calves that they become over protective and bordering on aggressive. They can't be blamed for protecting their babies.
And I still like their soft brown cow eyes. Have you seen cows eyelashes they are really thick and long?
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Owls in the Garden
Sometimes you hear a familiar sound and realise that it's been missing for a while. You don't know when it went missing, but it did. I am guessing it was just as the nights became longer, as the winter started. Then you hear the sound and realise it's back.
We were off to bed, the window was open and there it was, faint at first but then it was the distinct familiar "twit twoo" sound of the tawny owl. We have never seen them and only know they are somewhere in the trees, as they call to each other, usually around the time that we are going to bed or if we return late at night.
We see the barn owls, around the moss hunting at dawn and dusk. Their ghostly appearance, white against the darkening sky, swooping down on their prey, is a familiar sight. They sometimes even perch on a fence or gate post during daylight. A peculiar but welcome sight.
Not so the elusive tawny. They let us know they are there with their familiar calls but never to be seen. Camouflaged in the woodland against the tree trunks. The return of that welcome sound means they have nested in an empty tree bark or a crows nest or maybe in a discarded squirrels lair, in the local woodland. Welcome back Mr and Mrs Owl, perhaps you have returned with your babies. I hope so.
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Virgin campers!
Another First
Easter weekend was approaching, later this year, so potentially warmer than previous year. Also the winter had been milder so this was helping with the increased temperatures. This time last year there was still a significant amount of snow on the ground. We decided to camp. It seemed the right thing to do, even though I somehow have managed to get to my 50's without ever camping in a tent. My family had a static caravan when I was a child but that didn't count. However, with two dogs, it seemed the most appropriate accommodation as we had previously stayed in dog friendly hotels, spending the night trying to keep them quiet every time someone passed by outside our room. So the decision was made. We set off on our trip to a beautiful spot at the foot of the moel y gest mountain near Porthmadog in North Wales.
It was challenging to fit everything into the boot of a Mini Countryman, two dogs on the rear seat and maximum use of boot space like jigsaw. I am not a woman who travels light and could be accused of "Glamping". But we did managed to cram it all in and set off on our new adventure.
After a three hour journey we arrived at our destination. We were bathed in the rays of the warm sun as we set up our tent, working as a team, staked the dogs out and then cooked an outdoor feast. As it was Good Friday, fish and Mussels in white wine, cooked on the camping stove and barbecue were the order of the day. I was proud of my efforts, relaxed and happy. Thinking things just don't get better than this. Even the dogs were content to be tied to a stake and lay in the warm sunshine, just happy to be outside and in our company.
Evening approached and we walked the dogs to the village, watching the sunset on the beach at Black Rock Sands before settling down for the night as darkness fell. The site was basic, so no electric hook ups or mod cons of that nature! Torchlight, but also no form of heating. It soon became apparent
Easter weekend was approaching, later this year, so potentially warmer than previous year. Also the winter had been milder so this was helping with the increased temperatures. This time last year there was still a significant amount of snow on the ground. We decided to camp. It seemed the right thing to do, even though I somehow have managed to get to my 50's without ever camping in a tent. My family had a static caravan when I was a child but that didn't count. However, with two dogs, it seemed the most appropriate accommodation as we had previously stayed in dog friendly hotels, spending the night trying to keep them quiet every time someone passed by outside our room. So the decision was made. We set off on our trip to a beautiful spot at the foot of the moel y gest mountain near Porthmadog in North Wales.
It was challenging to fit everything into the boot of a Mini Countryman, two dogs on the rear seat and maximum use of boot space like jigsaw. I am not a woman who travels light and could be accused of "Glamping". But we did managed to cram it all in and set off on our new adventure.
After a three hour journey we arrived at our destination. We were bathed in the rays of the warm sun as we set up our tent, working as a team, staked the dogs out and then cooked an outdoor feast. As it was Good Friday, fish and Mussels in white wine, cooked on the camping stove and barbecue were the order of the day. I was proud of my efforts, relaxed and happy. Thinking things just don't get better than this. Even the dogs were content to be tied to a stake and lay in the warm sunshine, just happy to be outside and in our company.
Evening approached and we walked the dogs to the village, watching the sunset on the beach at Black Rock Sands before settling down for the night as darkness fell. The site was basic, so no electric hook ups or mod cons of that nature! Torchlight, but also no form of heating. It soon became apparent
Thursday, 3 April 2014
Magic Times
Not time to go home yet
Birds are just waking up
We can have our breakfast
And then play dressing up
It's not time to go home yet
Let me stay here instead
We need to play with the toys
And jumping on the bed
It's not time to go home yet
Let's go and play in the park
We need to play on the swings
Before it starts to get dark
It's not time to go home yet
I could stay for tea
You could make some sandwiches
Especially for me
Not time to go home yet
We have time to make some cakes
All different sizes
And pile them on the plates
Not time to go home yet
We want like to paint and draw
There's time for blowing bubbles
And time to do lots more
Not time to go home yet
I know we can see the moon
The stars are still in their beds
It really is too soon
Not time to go home yet
I know the stars are bright
I can see the Great Bear and Orion
Time to say Good Night Xx
Birds are just waking up
We can have our breakfast
And then play dressing up
It's not time to go home yet
Let me stay here instead
We need to play with the toys
And jumping on the bed
It's not time to go home yet
Let's go and play in the park
We need to play on the swings
Before it starts to get dark
It's not time to go home yet
I could stay for tea
You could make some sandwiches
Especially for me
Not time to go home yet
We have time to make some cakes
All different sizes
And pile them on the plates
Not time to go home yet
We want like to paint and draw
There's time for blowing bubbles
And time to do lots more
Not time to go home yet
I know we can see the moon
The stars are still in their beds
It really is too soon
Not time to go home yet
I know the stars are bright
I can see the Great Bear and Orion
Time to say Good Night Xx
Saturday, 8 February 2014
Why I will never leave this place
Why I will never leave Liverpool.
It's my home town. Well sort of, I live on the outskirts but still have an L post code so that's good enough for me. I could write about all of the wonderful cultural things such as our art galleries, fantastic waterfront, theatres, parks, wonderful architecture of our beautiful buildings, universities, and of course our music, unique sense of humour and football. The things we are famous for across the world.
The reality is, that, Liverpool people take these things for granted. We are a unique race, naturally creative, so we grow surrounded by all of these wonderful cultural experiences and they become part of who we are. We expect to go to pubs at the weekend and be surrounded by laughter and music. We are expected to be sportsmen, artists writers, actors and comedians. If you are not a performer then there is always someone in the family who is. We grew up with a piano in virtually every household end everyone learned either to play a musical instrument, sing, act or dance.
Our city centre is vibrant with colour, chatter and laughter. No one ever travelled on a train, bus or one of our ferries without making a new friend by the end of the journey. If you venture in to one of shops you can always rely on a fellow shopper to give an honest opinion of whether a dress will suit you or even where you can get it cheaper. Visitors are informed of the best places to eat or drink, not from a tourist information office, but simply having a chat to a passing local or asking directions.
So you see, that is one of the many the reasons why people never leave this city. It is accepted that we are fortunate to have a fabulous cultural history but the one thing that makes Liverpool unique is its people. Ask a Scouser who inspires them and I guarantee it won't be anyone who is historically famous or a famous celebrity. The name Anne Williams, the ordinary mother who fought for justice too prove the police lied during the Hillsborough disaster, or maybe Joan Jonker who set up victims of violence will be the people who inspire. Local people who have made a difference to the lives of others.
We are a race not impressed by fame or money. Ringo Starr of Beatles fame is considered a "blurt" for making derogatory comments about his home city. Most Liverpool people mock the "stars" who left at the earliest opportunity but use the city's fame to promote their own egos. No hero worship for them here even though they are probably deluded enough to think we care.
We are also a very unforgiving city, just ask the Editor of the Sun how many copies they've sold in the Liverpool since the reports of the Hillsborough disaster ( which were false and lies). We are a city divided into two for football but united and stand together against injustice. If you win our hearts you have us forever.
The City of Liverpool suffered terribly during the Thatcher years. Manufacturing was destroyed and central funding withdrawn from a council which wouldn't comply. The people were made to suffer and this created an underclass, generations of people who had never known employment. Our heads remained high and we never lost hope. After taking a battering during the war years and then followed by the musical revolution in the sixties, the seventies, eighties and nineties were difficult times in our city. Riots took place in 1981 and the city was in decline. The rest of the country sneered and " scousers" were considered an underclass by the boys clubs of Fleet Street and Downing Street. The press did a great job of convincing the world that our city was a bad place full of thieves and scroungers. It took 20 years to prove the lies of the press and the Yorkshire Police about then Hillsborough disaster of 1996. Only the tenacity and dedication of the victims families kept the fight for justice.
Then the tide turned. This wonderful maritime city was finally recognised for its unique cultural history and became the City of Culture. Visitors came in droves and the city became regenerated into the vibrant exciting place of previous years. We are even expecting the cruise ships to return in the same numbers as in Liverpool's heyday. Our universities are the best in the country educating doctors, lawyers, business graduates and every professional vocation key to our country's future. It is even more encouraging to hear the Liverpool accent amongst this group of young professionals. Our local young talent is staying in the city and becoming the leaders of the future.
Some things will never change. The waterfront with its magnificent buildings, watched over by the Liver Birds and of course our wonderful people. We maintain our close links with the Scots, Welsh and Irish who have strong links with the city. The location is perfect for anyone who lives here. Historically part of Lancashire, only two hours from the hills of Wales, the Lakes of Cumbria, Yorkshire Dales and Peak District. A short flight or trip on a Ferry takes you to Ireland or the Isle of Man. Travel a little further and you can get to Scotland or the South West in less than the time that you spend at work for a day. Wherever you live in or around this city you are never far from green and pleasant countryside. Liverpool is a city surrounded by country. There are many reasons why I would find it so difficult to leave this place.
"Ferry 'cross the Mersey cos this lands the place I love and here I'll stay" (Gerry Marsden)
In my Liverpool home,
In my Liverpool home,
We speak with an accent exceedingly rare
Meet under a statue exceedingly bare. **
If you want a cathedral we've got one to spare
In my Liverpool home
(Patrick McGovern)
**reference to the Dickie Lewis naked man statue above what wa gage neon trance to Lewis's store
It's my home town. Well sort of, I live on the outskirts but still have an L post code so that's good enough for me. I could write about all of the wonderful cultural things such as our art galleries, fantastic waterfront, theatres, parks, wonderful architecture of our beautiful buildings, universities, and of course our music, unique sense of humour and football. The things we are famous for across the world.
The reality is, that, Liverpool people take these things for granted. We are a unique race, naturally creative, so we grow surrounded by all of these wonderful cultural experiences and they become part of who we are. We expect to go to pubs at the weekend and be surrounded by laughter and music. We are expected to be sportsmen, artists writers, actors and comedians. If you are not a performer then there is always someone in the family who is. We grew up with a piano in virtually every household end everyone learned either to play a musical instrument, sing, act or dance.
Our city centre is vibrant with colour, chatter and laughter. No one ever travelled on a train, bus or one of our ferries without making a new friend by the end of the journey. If you venture in to one of shops you can always rely on a fellow shopper to give an honest opinion of whether a dress will suit you or even where you can get it cheaper. Visitors are informed of the best places to eat or drink, not from a tourist information office, but simply having a chat to a passing local or asking directions.
So you see, that is one of the many the reasons why people never leave this city. It is accepted that we are fortunate to have a fabulous cultural history but the one thing that makes Liverpool unique is its people. Ask a Scouser who inspires them and I guarantee it won't be anyone who is historically famous or a famous celebrity. The name Anne Williams, the ordinary mother who fought for justice too prove the police lied during the Hillsborough disaster, or maybe Joan Jonker who set up victims of violence will be the people who inspire. Local people who have made a difference to the lives of others.
We are a race not impressed by fame or money. Ringo Starr of Beatles fame is considered a "blurt" for making derogatory comments about his home city. Most Liverpool people mock the "stars" who left at the earliest opportunity but use the city's fame to promote their own egos. No hero worship for them here even though they are probably deluded enough to think we care.
We are also a very unforgiving city, just ask the Editor of the Sun how many copies they've sold in the Liverpool since the reports of the Hillsborough disaster ( which were false and lies). We are a city divided into two for football but united and stand together against injustice. If you win our hearts you have us forever.
The City of Liverpool suffered terribly during the Thatcher years. Manufacturing was destroyed and central funding withdrawn from a council which wouldn't comply. The people were made to suffer and this created an underclass, generations of people who had never known employment. Our heads remained high and we never lost hope. After taking a battering during the war years and then followed by the musical revolution in the sixties, the seventies, eighties and nineties were difficult times in our city. Riots took place in 1981 and the city was in decline. The rest of the country sneered and " scousers" were considered an underclass by the boys clubs of Fleet Street and Downing Street. The press did a great job of convincing the world that our city was a bad place full of thieves and scroungers. It took 20 years to prove the lies of the press and the Yorkshire Police about then Hillsborough disaster of 1996. Only the tenacity and dedication of the victims families kept the fight for justice.
Then the tide turned. This wonderful maritime city was finally recognised for its unique cultural history and became the City of Culture. Visitors came in droves and the city became regenerated into the vibrant exciting place of previous years. We are even expecting the cruise ships to return in the same numbers as in Liverpool's heyday. Our universities are the best in the country educating doctors, lawyers, business graduates and every professional vocation key to our country's future. It is even more encouraging to hear the Liverpool accent amongst this group of young professionals. Our local young talent is staying in the city and becoming the leaders of the future.
Some things will never change. The waterfront with its magnificent buildings, watched over by the Liver Birds and of course our wonderful people. We maintain our close links with the Scots, Welsh and Irish who have strong links with the city. The location is perfect for anyone who lives here. Historically part of Lancashire, only two hours from the hills of Wales, the Lakes of Cumbria, Yorkshire Dales and Peak District. A short flight or trip on a Ferry takes you to Ireland or the Isle of Man. Travel a little further and you can get to Scotland or the South West in less than the time that you spend at work for a day. Wherever you live in or around this city you are never far from green and pleasant countryside. Liverpool is a city surrounded by country. There are many reasons why I would find it so difficult to leave this place.
"Ferry 'cross the Mersey cos this lands the place I love and here I'll stay" (Gerry Marsden)
In my Liverpool home,
In my Liverpool home,
We speak with an accent exceedingly rare
Meet under a statue exceedingly bare. **
If you want a cathedral we've got one to spare
In my Liverpool home
(Patrick McGovern)
**reference to the Dickie Lewis naked man statue above what wa gage neon trance to Lewis's store
Sunday, 2 February 2014
In was asked by the owner of the September Woman website to write a blog about how I came to take riding lessons in my 50's. I didn't have a clue about blogging but just wrote this piece from the heart. I hope it inspires others to enjoy their lives and take every opportunity than life presents to themBlog for September Woman. Website to inspire women in their autumn years.
Can you feel as though your life is over at 36? Hardly the September years, but for me this was when the bubble burst, and it felt like my life was over. The husband I adored, and whom I had shared my life with since I was 15, decided after almost 20 years of marriage, that he wanted to leave me and our two daughters for someone he had met at a works Christmas party. Looking back the signs were there, but I was blind to it, because love is blind, and now it seemed as if my whole life to this point had been some kind of deluded lie. "Together forever" he had said only a month before when we had one of our first few weekends away without the girls. I just wanted to curl up in bed and make the whole thing go away. I wanted my life back, my family to be together again, but it had gone, forever. I had to accept that, just like losing my mother to cancer the year before, that this part of my life was never coming back.
So the rebuilding process began. Slowly, at first, but it started to make me realise that, for once in my life I could be my own person. Initially I thought that I wanted to meet someone else, but after unsuitable dates and very brief relationships I realised I was only trying to replace what I had. That wasn't going to happen. That part of my life was gone and I needed to build a new one. It wasn't a conscious decision to do this, but more of a slow and growing realisation that there were things I wanted to do and I didn't need to seek the approval of anyone else to follow my dreams.
I worked hard to gain promotion in work. I needed financial security and had previously completed my CIPD qualifications to the response of "you're only a bloody receptionist why are you bothering". Those words were ringing in my ears when I got my first HR Advisor job and it felt good knowing that I done it in spite of him not because of him. I was finally becoming me. It was a financial struggle at first with two daughters still in education and living at home, but it was the first step to financial independence. I was never going to rely on a man to provide me with a lifestyle. I could do anything that I wanted to. I had loyalty and companionship from my dogs and I didn't need anything else apart from my two lovely daughters but they had their own lives to live.
Leisure time was spent with friends travelling to places I had always dreamed of going to. New York, Hong Kong, Canada, California and the Caribbean as well as the usual European destinations. I was fortunate to have wonderful friends who enjoyed the same things as I did. I started doing the things that I always wanted to do. I took up golf lessons, joined the gym, started going to football matches, joined a rambling club. I visited the most beautiful places during walks and met wonderful people. I managed to arrange for a friend of a friend take take me around the Isle of Man TT course on the back of his motorbike and went paragliding when on another holiday. This isn't such a big deal for some but I am afraid of heights. I discovered an inner determination to overcome my fears. I have also managed to be persuaded to go up with my friends husband in his micro light aircraft. Some think I'm brave, others think I'm insane, but really it's about enjoying the moment.
Over the years I continued to work hard, completed my Masters in
Strategic HR Management, and my career progressed to senior HR Roles. I thought that maybe I might want another relationship but Mr Right was very elusive. I didn't really believe he existed. Also my tolerance of anyone who wanted to be part of my life, or even worse control it, was zero.
However, one day, out with friends at the local pub I met the man who was to be my partner, best friend and my soul mate. I married my husband after a five year relationship (We didn't want to rush things) 12 years after my first marriage had ended.
I still dreamed of one day being able to ride a horse again. Something I had tried as a child but not had the chance to take it up properly. I needed to gain that confidence just to take some lessons, but I thought I was too old. None of my existing group of friends was into horses so the subject never cropped up. I was working as an interim and got talking about riding to a colleague. She was more than 20 years younger than me but we got on really well, with a common interest. We have since become great friends. She suggested that we went riding together and pestered me until I booked the lessons. With fantastic instruction, from Sue at Parbold Equestrian, I took up riding again at the age of 52. I still felt that apprehension when I first got on and also had to have a short break due to a fall and an unrelated illness, but I am still having lessons more than a year later and love it. I knew I had progressed when I stopped feeling apprehensive and couldn't wait for my next lesson. I have now done a couple of basic dressage tests, which is real progress for me. Although, I know and accept that I am a slow learner, for me it's about doing something you enjoy and progressing at your own pace, even if it is only small steps (pardon the pun). That feeling of achievement, of a horse understanding what you want it to do just by touch and mutual trust can't be explained. I love their beautiful faces and that smell that only a horse lover can appreciate. The best stress reliever you can get. It empties the head of all of the days worries.
I am now happily married to Tony with fabulous daughters and three beautiful Grandaughters. Truly a galloping Granny wanting to take up every new challenge.
September years? Bring them on. Autumn is a fabulous time of year. Beautiful colours and nature shedding the old to prepare for the new. I've still got lots of new things to try. I definitely want to keep riding as you can only keep improving and it satisfies my desire of always wanting to learn something new. My husband and I also bought a Tandem Bike last summer. Watch this space ............
My motto is to take every opportunity that comes your way. Age doesn't matter, it's all relative, you are only as young as you allow yourself to be. Stealing a motto from A little Horse Sense (Artist) "Turn your cant's into cans and your dreams into plans".
Audrey Cushion
Freshfield Liverpool
.
Can you feel as though your life is over at 36? Hardly the September years, but for me this was when the bubble burst, and it felt like my life was over. The husband I adored, and whom I had shared my life with since I was 15, decided after almost 20 years of marriage, that he wanted to leave me and our two daughters for someone he had met at a works Christmas party. Looking back the signs were there, but I was blind to it, because love is blind, and now it seemed as if my whole life to this point had been some kind of deluded lie. "Together forever" he had said only a month before when we had one of our first few weekends away without the girls. I just wanted to curl up in bed and make the whole thing go away. I wanted my life back, my family to be together again, but it had gone, forever. I had to accept that, just like losing my mother to cancer the year before, that this part of my life was never coming back.
So the rebuilding process began. Slowly, at first, but it started to make me realise that, for once in my life I could be my own person. Initially I thought that I wanted to meet someone else, but after unsuitable dates and very brief relationships I realised I was only trying to replace what I had. That wasn't going to happen. That part of my life was gone and I needed to build a new one. It wasn't a conscious decision to do this, but more of a slow and growing realisation that there were things I wanted to do and I didn't need to seek the approval of anyone else to follow my dreams.
I worked hard to gain promotion in work. I needed financial security and had previously completed my CIPD qualifications to the response of "you're only a bloody receptionist why are you bothering". Those words were ringing in my ears when I got my first HR Advisor job and it felt good knowing that I done it in spite of him not because of him. I was finally becoming me. It was a financial struggle at first with two daughters still in education and living at home, but it was the first step to financial independence. I was never going to rely on a man to provide me with a lifestyle. I could do anything that I wanted to. I had loyalty and companionship from my dogs and I didn't need anything else apart from my two lovely daughters but they had their own lives to live.
Leisure time was spent with friends travelling to places I had always dreamed of going to. New York, Hong Kong, Canada, California and the Caribbean as well as the usual European destinations. I was fortunate to have wonderful friends who enjoyed the same things as I did. I started doing the things that I always wanted to do. I took up golf lessons, joined the gym, started going to football matches, joined a rambling club. I visited the most beautiful places during walks and met wonderful people. I managed to arrange for a friend of a friend take take me around the Isle of Man TT course on the back of his motorbike and went paragliding when on another holiday. This isn't such a big deal for some but I am afraid of heights. I discovered an inner determination to overcome my fears. I have also managed to be persuaded to go up with my friends husband in his micro light aircraft. Some think I'm brave, others think I'm insane, but really it's about enjoying the moment.
Over the years I continued to work hard, completed my Masters in
Strategic HR Management, and my career progressed to senior HR Roles. I thought that maybe I might want another relationship but Mr Right was very elusive. I didn't really believe he existed. Also my tolerance of anyone who wanted to be part of my life, or even worse control it, was zero.
However, one day, out with friends at the local pub I met the man who was to be my partner, best friend and my soul mate. I married my husband after a five year relationship (We didn't want to rush things) 12 years after my first marriage had ended.
I still dreamed of one day being able to ride a horse again. Something I had tried as a child but not had the chance to take it up properly. I needed to gain that confidence just to take some lessons, but I thought I was too old. None of my existing group of friends was into horses so the subject never cropped up. I was working as an interim and got talking about riding to a colleague. She was more than 20 years younger than me but we got on really well, with a common interest. We have since become great friends. She suggested that we went riding together and pestered me until I booked the lessons. With fantastic instruction, from Sue at Parbold Equestrian, I took up riding again at the age of 52. I still felt that apprehension when I first got on and also had to have a short break due to a fall and an unrelated illness, but I am still having lessons more than a year later and love it. I knew I had progressed when I stopped feeling apprehensive and couldn't wait for my next lesson. I have now done a couple of basic dressage tests, which is real progress for me. Although, I know and accept that I am a slow learner, for me it's about doing something you enjoy and progressing at your own pace, even if it is only small steps (pardon the pun). That feeling of achievement, of a horse understanding what you want it to do just by touch and mutual trust can't be explained. I love their beautiful faces and that smell that only a horse lover can appreciate. The best stress reliever you can get. It empties the head of all of the days worries.
I am now happily married to Tony with fabulous daughters and three beautiful Grandaughters. Truly a galloping Granny wanting to take up every new challenge.
September years? Bring them on. Autumn is a fabulous time of year. Beautiful colours and nature shedding the old to prepare for the new. I've still got lots of new things to try. I definitely want to keep riding as you can only keep improving and it satisfies my desire of always wanting to learn something new. My husband and I also bought a Tandem Bike last summer. Watch this space ............
My motto is to take every opportunity that comes your way. Age doesn't matter, it's all relative, you are only as young as you allow yourself to be. Stealing a motto from A little Horse Sense (Artist) "Turn your cant's into cans and your dreams into plans".
Audrey Cushion
Freshfield Liverpool
.
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