Ring O' Bells

Back in my previous incarnation in England and when I was in my early 20s I occasionally pulled ropes and rang church bells. In fact I nearly ended my life as a result when a bellrope came off the bellwheel  and snaked around my neck. Fortunately someone behind me (not ringing a bell) saw it and got the rope away from my neck before it was pulled up again by the weight of the bell. Such occurrences are infrequent but can have dire consequences. "Hung by the Church Bell" does not look good on a church gravestone.   

My wife to be was a proper campanologist.

Next to the church which we attended (and in which we were married) was a hostelry aptly known as The Ring'O Bells.  There in 'Ernie's Snug' we gathered after ringing for a pint or two of best bitter. 

That was over half a century ago. 

The last time I went into the hostelry was a good few years ago and I felt like a complete stranger. The inside of the hotel had been completely gutted and was a beautiful, modern hostelry with plenty of food being served. If I had still lived there I wondered if it was still a 'local' for some old codgers who would pop in for a pint. 

Mind you I can't remember when I last had a 'pint' or any draught beer for that matter. My alcoholic drink of choice for the last 40 + years has been wine.

I must get back to blogging more regularly and try and ressurect some of my old memories too.  

The White Horse, Cilcain.

When I was a child my father used to take me (and later me and my brother) walking in the hills of North Wales. One of our favourites was Moel Fammau (of which I have blogged previously including this one). We often ended our walk at Cilcain. Later in life I used to drive there for lunch with friends or for an evening out. When I was staying with CJ and his Partner Who Loves Tea we went to North Wales one day and stopped at The White Horse for lunch. It had hardly altered since my last visit perhaps 30 years ago although I don't recall tables out at the front in those days.

Tuesday and One For Adrian

What happened today?

It is Diane's Birthday.  Which is a silly thing to tell you because you have no idea who Diane is.

I drove Diane and Mo from Diane's house near Merseyside to Arras in France where I am writing this  in my hotel bedroom on a computer that is thinking about running out of battery because I've left the plug converters in the car (silly me) and can't be bothered getting dressed to go and get them.

I have hardly ever driven down the M6 in the rush hour through Stoke without it being clogged up.  Today it was a clear run.  Then we used the M6 Toll Road and avoided the threatened heavy congestion around Birmingham.  In fact even with a very leisurely morning coffee break we were down at the Channel Tunnel well ahead of schedule.  Nearly 300 miles of relative motoring sanity.  Almost unheard of in my experience on an English Motorway.

Then 73 kilometres in France on an Autoroute relatively devoid of traffic.  The holiday had started.

Now fed and watered (with some red water) it's time for bed and a good sleep before the next leg tomorrow when, hopefully, I'll have something interesting to show you.

In the meantime here's one for Adrian:

How about that for a name of a falling-over-water establishment?

Why Am I Telling You This?

Actually I know the answer.  The subject of Eccles cakes came up when Dave and I were having coffee in the Woodlands the other day.  Despite not being a great fan of raisins, and Eccles cakes are full of raisins, I love Eccles cakes. (I’ll actually eat almost anything except tripe even if it’s not something I’d actually choose to eat).  The family loved them too.  When I was a small child there was near us at The Rocket (about which Scriptor has blogged if I can find it)  a bakery called, locally even if it wasn’t its proper name, Up The Steps.  I went in there one day to get some things for Mum and asked, not for Eccles cakes as they were properly called but for fly cemeteries which was what they were called by the family.  I was promptly asked to leave.  I presume I was allowed back at a later date.  I don’t really remember.

The only other time that I can ever recall being thrown out of anywhere was being thrown out of Snows, a quite smart down the steps bar in London’s Piccadilly.  That was in the sixties and I was just in my 20s.  Given that I was much older then than I am now (mentally anyway) I was mortified.  I was, I hasten to add, stone cold sober at the time of this incident.  I was in London on a training course for something or other and we had finished for the day and gone to Snows.  Someone learned that I could Cossack dance and probably dared me to do one on a table - I was quite adept at winning bets that I wouldn’t do something.  So I took my shoes off and did a Cossack dance on a table – a very substantial table I should add.  I was asked to leave.   I was mortified.  I can’t understand why but everyone else thought it was very funny!

An Hostelry

When I was in my 20s I used to frequent a little country pub on the Wirral.  It was called The Wheatsheaf at Raby.  When CJ, Jo and I were returning from one of our outings we passed it and stopped for a photo.  What really worried me was that although I recall that ‘the gang’ used to meet there a lot on our regular nights out I didn’t remember it inside at all.  In fact the only thing I could recall is that it was virtually impossible to park the car anywhere near it on a Thursday or Friday night.  One day I shall return.  Hopefully it will either be a cold winter night and the fire will be burning warm and welcoming or it will be a beautiful, warm and sunny summer evening.  The things of which memories are made.

A Canal Walk

Today has been a very hot - by Glasgow standards - day with temperatures just below 30 deg C (86 deg F) and very high humidity. I love the heat but not when it's humid and not when I'm not dressed appropriately. Anyway this morning Anna and I went for a walk along the Forth and Clyde Canal not far from Bishopbriggs. We started at The Stables, a pub, on the A803 Kirkintilloch Road where it crosses the Canal, where we had coffee. The weather was very bright and quite sunny although the photos don't seem to reflect that: