I’ve only just got round to catching up on this thread. Living 4 miles from Cleethorpes as a kid, Dad took us there many a time.
I recognise some of the places, dimly, but I do remember the happy times we had there. We had many a ride on the narrow gauge train, and motor boats on the lake.
There used to be pleasure flights in a light aircraft that took off from the beach!
Heading down the coast there were sand dunes and a nine hole golf course, along with lock gates on the outlet of Buck Beck that ran through the village where we lived.
On the seafront we always had to have go in the amusement arcade, and laugh at The Boy with the Leaking Boot along the way.
Thanks for nostalgia injection.
Oh, apparently there is a tiny bar in a tiny signal box somewhere along the front.
Back then I had counted on recommissioning the summer car and stretching its legs was a good idea, unfortunately I didn’t get round to it, its now all up and running so its on the cards this summer so lets go for it.
I was just taking Mrs Fox out for lunch to a local garden centre last Saturday, we had just left the village on a busy country road when two bikers came in the opposite direction, and look what I caught on my dashcam…
Unfortunately, the meal wasn’t very good either. My quiche was burned and dry, and since when has two different types of lettuce and a slice of cucumber been described as a ‘salad’?
A nice well stocked garden centre, but off my future Saturday lunch list…
Absolutely Spitty, that kind of behaviour should be limited to the Isle of Man.
And to think I pay extra insurance because I drive everywhere at 30mph, am an old bloke, and have an ICD fitted and may have a heart attack at the wheel…
And so onto today’s business…
Another Saturday, and lunch at another garden centre…
Does life get any better than this…(a statement not a question)
I’m disgusted!
A couple of weeks ago I was buying my usual apples from the Tesco. I like braeburn apples and was faced with a pack of seven small ones grown in Kent, or a pack of six bigger ones that had come all way from South Africa. The ones from Africa looked more riper, healthier and tastier, but being English, I opted for the ones grown in Kent.
I wasn’t disappointed, the Kent apples were crispy and juicy, but I felt that the African ones might have been better. So this week, against my better patriotic judgement I bought the South African apples…On the face of it they looked far superior to the Kent apples, but tasted horrible.
No juice and soft gooey flesh…You could taste every single mile of 8 thousand ish’ miles they had travelled to end up on a South Yorkshire supermarket shelf…
Today, I bought a bag of sprouts purported to be from ‘Rosedene Farms’…Nice English name, and I conjured up pictures of pastures green and fields bordered with hawthorn hedges and the occasional oak tree being wafted in a gentle warm breeze and full of fresh green sprouts being watered with gentle April showers…Nope! The sprouts were from Morocco…BLOODY MOROCCO? It’s just desert in Morocco…
Had to take some time out from walking and running this week with a bad knee. I’ll give it a week and try some cycling…With no idea how it happened, I think it was the gout!
Never had knee problems in my life before…Oh! I tell a lie…I did an 84 mile run and it became swollen. I still managed to compete in a 40 mile fell race two weeks later but had to wear a support.
I was listening to some old songs on youtube and this one came up…
My first ever love left me when I was 16 and I played this over and over…
You never forget your first love, and I wondered what life would have been like if I had married her instead of Mrs Fox…
A glass of wine, and an old record, and I got sentimental…
