some canalside colour

Autumn on the Peak Forest Canal….today, between Romiley and Marple.

A splendid walk..

…along the Peak Forest Canal yesterday. Wallet & I were joined by our grand-daughter whose delight in feeding some hungry ducks was a joy to see.

We joined the towpath at New Mills and walked towards Whaley Bridge.  The unyielding drabness of the slate grey sky did not spoil our stroll . Moreover, the colour sof autumn managed to shine through and the trees were quite lovely as leaves fluttered to the ground even in the stillness of this Sunday morning.

As luck would have it we were to catch sight of a  double engined steam train hauling eastward to Sheffield. Across the viaduct by New Mills the ribbon of smoke issuing forth transported a small knot of people (gathered on the hillside to admire) back half a century in time. When coal was king and the country spluttered on all cylinders working in a semblance of unison.

two Black 5's hauling eastward

factory in background churns our 'love-hearts' - Swizzel's

We shook off the Ducks and headed toward Bugsworth. We hadn’t been walking long when we spotted a Heron, standing stock still for photographs as I, and several other walkers availed ourselves of his patience.

an obliging Heron

A mile or so along the towpath we came upon Funess Vale Marina, where a few dozen narrowboats moor permanently. My appetite for boat ownership was rekindled by this oasis of quiet and clam, as the only activity was a few boaters preparing their craft for winter – buffing and cleaning, perhaps preparing to batten down the hatches before the cold and wet set in.

moorings

more moorings

We’d neve rwalked this stretch of the canal before, but over the last few months have now completed pretty much all of it ! I pondered the busy A6 , of which I caught glimpses of to the south, a couple of hundred yards away form the towpath.  I’ve driven that road literally thousands of times and never knew this little marina existed. Stark contrasts indeed. Now I know of it I shall be a frequent visitor.

Soon however, rumbling tums dictated a ‘U’ turn ang we returned to New Mills, pausing for a picture as g/d found herself between  a rock and a hard case….

We rounded off the morning with  a cheap treat at MacDonald’s – tasty bites all round  and agreeable milk shakes.

Another few hours well spent, in which Grandma and Gran-daughter’s inseperability was again apparent and a joy to behold.

kicking over the traces of autmn

t’was the best of times…t’was the worst of times

Blimey – seven months on the sick – the ‘pat and mick’ ….the longest time – by far – I’ve ever slipped out of ‘collar’ since 1967.

The finances are suffering on a pocket money style week to week basis because the stautory sick-pay ran out after 28 weeks and I’m currently on ‘Employment Support Allowance’ – a new benefit which is replacing ‘Incapacity Benefit’ which is claimed by an amazingly high number of people, some of them no doubt spuriously.

The last few weeks have been  a taste of retirement and I have to say I’ve liked it. A lot. I’ve been feeling fitter, gaining strength and walking further than at any time in my life since the mid-seventies…when I was a Postman! No pain to speak of either which is liberating in itself.

Two major operations in the space of three months seem to have paid off in that both his now function very well. I get  a good nights sleep and the aching arse syndrome I’ve suffered with for three years has gone. Wonderful.  I’ve actually been waking up at 8-00 am. instead of tossing and turning all night with umpteen glances at the clock in the wee small hours.

Once the post op. pain began to subside – and it was different pain to that I’d had before – and I could start to walk ever increasing distances I feel this has been life as it should be lived. No wage earning imperative, no demands on my time, no schedules to keep, no pressure….no nowt.

People have asked ‘Don’t you get bored’  My answer is always the same ‘boredom is not a term that features in my life’

 There is simply too much going on in my head. You’ll have gleaned that much if it is of little consequence, but it keeps me occupied.

Sadly though these alcyon days are drawing to  a close. A three hour driving assessment last week brought no ill effects and the routine aspects  aspects of the job were mastered with a plum (fruit joke). No ill effects to delay my return and all I await now is a green light from my Doctor tomorrow. Twinges from my knee – which has been troubling me of late – were probably down to the somewhat heavy clutch on the old DAF I was driving. 

I shall need to be careful, and will not take any risks. Disclocation is still a possibility

The finances are slightly bruised, rather than battered but damage has been minimised due to  austerity measures – also  a portent of  post2016 living – which have been relatively easy to cope with. I do look forward though to buying the odd DVD when I see one I fancy, and not worrying where the next few gallons of petrol are coming from.

So, all being well I’ll be back at work soon and will have less time to spend on here discussing all and sundry to those who will listen and of course to those who won’t.

Why I’m so bloody livid (contains curses)

Some bloke on a forum I visit said he’s amazed this retirement fiddle is causing such  a furore.

I’m not

But then I’m 58 – just approaching the penalty area and shaping up for a shot at retirement as I wrote last night.
It’s in my sights – it’s been there for a couple of years. As the twentieth century slipped away and I felt myself getting older, aches – pains – needing specs etc….I kept up the work, despite severe arthritis which incidentally over 6 years never cost my employer a days absence – not that we get sick pay anyway.

Thankfully it’s now fixed after two ops in very quick succession against Doc’s advice so I could get back to bloody work!! what a mug you may say, and I currently agree with you.

So, 2016 I thought – it’s looming – no more rising at 5-30am and getting home whenever the demands of the job dictate. Now they plan to move the goalposts and I’m not having it without a fight.

‘Furore?’ you ain’t seen nothin’ yet !

Today my local freesheet is carrying obituariess for people who have died before their threescore years and ten.
Whilst out shopping my wife today learned of two deaths locally – both males in their late fifties.

What’s needed to vehemently protest against this proposal is for more eloquent & better clued up people than me to get the message out to the Conservatives that they are playing with fire.

This proposal WILL cost them hundreds of thousands of votes and those important key-marginal seats should be targetted – anyone over the age of 48 in those seats and elsewhere is being cheated – shortchanged….after years of expectation and it simply will not wash. The fact that the plan is announced by a millionaire with the aim of incrasing inheritance tax thresholds to one million pound merely rubs salt in this inflamed wound.

I’ve already made my feelings clear on a couple of Tory Websites – Conservative Home was one. The feeble responses centred more on the fact that as a Lorry Driver it’s quite amazing that I can string a few sentences together.

Arrogant Arsewipes.
‘All in this together ‘?? my ass.
‘All living longer’ GARBAGE.

A compromise measure might be to stave this rise off until 2020 – when nobody with less than a decade to work before retirement will be affected. I was not contemplating retirement at the age of 48.
Unless one is lucky enough to be retiring at 50 I doubt many people are. One of the Police Officers I was talking to yesterday is doing just that after 30 years service.

Good luck to him but this is increasing social division….although I repeat ‘were all in this together’

BOLLOCKS!

sTory conference

I was determined to make some kind of protest about Tory plans to increase my working life by one year. The goal posts have been moved just as I’m approaching the penalty area and getting ready for a shot – at doing nowt for a change.

 So yesterday I fired off a few e.mails to the likes of George Osborne and others, and then made a placard ! All this activity was bringing my blood pressure down and helping to vent my spleen. Given the fact though that hundreds of Conservatives were meeting in my hometown for their annual conference junket I couldn’t resist a trip into the city centre to perhaps buttonhole a few delegates.

 A nice sunny day helped make up my mind. ‘Ready for Change’ the posters all proclaimed as I approached G.Mex – I certainly needed lots of it to feed the avaricious parking meters – nearly three quid for two and a half hours. As I alighted the auld Audi and made my way on foot it soon became obvious that the G.Mex centre was subject to huge security. I wasn’t surprised. I engaged a couple of P.C’s in conversation and they told me I’d get nowhere near the building , and all the delegates were now inside . Curses!

Manchester's tallest building behind the conference centre

 I began to take a few photographs of this much changed urban cityscape before wandering about a bit aimlessly chatting to a few more Coppers. (no more puns on ‘ready for change’) One young WPC tippped me off that ‘they usually come out for a butty about half-twelve’ – before conversation revealed she usually works the mean streets of Fallowfield & Withington. ‘A real mixed bag’ she declared. I thanked her both for the info. and for doing a ‘valuable job’ she seemed pleased.

I discounted a pub lunch

I was feeling peckish and began to evaluate the bewildering array of sandwich bars and the like. ‘Subway’ baffled me – but I’m fairly easily baffled these days. A makeshift marquee in Albert Square offered finest ‘Spanish Cuisine.’ I asked the man cooking a panful of Paella if he had any Spanish Meat & Potato pies but he didn’t answer.

Between taking photographs, avoiding traffic, and dodging pedestrians on Cross Street I was feeling a little out of my element. I settled on a ‘First Taste’ emporium and a ‘grilled chicken salad’ At just under the quid this represented good value and got my laughing tackle around it whilst sat on a bench in Albert Square , facing the Town Hall. As I struggled a bit to get my mouth around the huge bap, I noticed a growing crowd of skanky inner city pigeons gathering, eager for crumbs. I obliged and a couple of ‘em had far better dinnners than they’d be used too.

Central Library St.Peter's Square

Dinner dined I went back to G.Mex and saw a flurry of folk with i.d. badges around their necks – I spotted one. A man in his sixties with a limp. He was wearing a suit. I quickly gathered he was in a hurry, and the hurry ( and the limp) seemed to increase when he began to realise what I was banging on about. ‘Who spent all the Money’ he asked. “Certainly not me, I’m not profligate” ‘Ahh, I don’t want a conversation in the street’…

…’Oh Hello’ he said as he was greeted by two more men in suits – one of whom introduced him to his companion as ‘one of our Councillors in Northumberland’ As they chatted, I noticed the folded copy of ‘The Daily Telegraph’ tucked under his arm. The encounter was brief and as my quarry walked on I pursued my line of enquiry…’how is this fair..I’ll have been paying my way for 48 years in 2016 ‘ “You shouldn’t have voted Labour” – the arrogant turdy asserted. ‘But I did no such thing’ I was a bit affronted by his arrogant assumption and confess I momentarily pondered how I might appear to be a Labour voter.

Fleetingly I wished I’d worn my suit ! I was casually dressed you see. Had my accent let me down ? I don’t sound ‘posh’ you see, but I can string sentences together quite well despite a humble upbringing compared to some walking Manchester’s streets this day . I felt like taking my Daily Mail from my bag and hitting him with it but suddenly his limp seemed to ease as he put a spurt on via Albert Square with ‘you can’t defend the indefensible’ wringing in his ears. (hopefully)

I turned about , looking for more of ‘em. Nothing doing – many were staying in the venue, keeping their seats for Big Dave’s speech. I decided to make my way back to the car. Although the horror of paying for more parking than necessary was gnawing away in my skinflint psyche. I spotted two men – of Asian appearance wearing blue suits. They looked Tory – in fact one of ‘em turned out to be on Dave’s ‘A-list’ A parliamentary candidate !! I introduced myself and they listened. We stood chatting for a couple of minutes by the side of the busy road. The candidate had a huge belly on him. I told him not to espouse the lie that ‘we’re all living longer’ and giving a nod to his enormous girth, reminded him that many within ‘his own community’ were susceptible to life shortening disease’ Fair play to the lads though they did hear me out and nodded sympathetically at the right places.

 Then they assured me ‘we really are in this together’ before heading off to perhaps a first class ticket on the gravy train I pondered awhile – then accosted someone else wearing a badge.

the Town Hall clock

Soon though I decided to cut my losses and head for the supermarket for four cans of Abbot Ale. My bank accout has been augmented by the DWP today by the princely sum of £20. I’m not sure why.  The sum financed my foray into town. Probably my only visit to a Conservative Party Conference. To me they were summed up by the limping Northumbrian who assumed my allegiance and was not willing to listen. If they do get into power and continue with this unfair plan to cheat the over fifties they will be forced to hear at the very least.

 

Meanwhile I shall console my self courtesy of the Abbot, and reflect upon direct action and it merits. I just wished I’d asked that Asian bloke which seat he was standing for. I almost wish him well.

 

In case you’re wondering I decided to leave the placard at home. Frankly I’d have loooked a bit of a pillock walking up and down St.Peters Square with it.

It wasn’t that kind of day….I shall keep it handy though.

Anyway, let’s have a photo finish (the election result might be more emphatic!)

~Beetham Tower~

looking up Cross Street to the 'Manchester Eye'

Metrolink tram

Manchester Town Hall

a parting shot

The Scottish Pools Coupon Towns

 

Do you remember , about a year ago when the Beeb was criticised for insufficient coverage of our northern neighbour? Well, they have certainly redressed the balance and long may it continue. Even Rab C Nesbitt is getting another run out – late doors, before ‘Early Doors’…the ‘Scottish Pools Coupon Towns’ was the latest in a long line of special progs…. This was a strange wee film. It began with the somewhat wordy, upper middle class presenter Jonathan Meades (Off Kilter it’s called) lying on the floor in the kind of position which might suggest he’d just fallen from a ten story building, or the edge of a steep crag by Glencoe…ie’ off kilter.

 

He’s a cross between Elton John , Robert Palmer, and William H Macy….a very distinctive man indeed and his way with words means one really has to concentrate…I only understood nine out of every ten and I consider myself fairly accomplished in the use of our language. Within minutes he was driving around Fife…looking for the stadia of minor Scottish football clubs (I feel there are only two or three major ones, after all). Cowdenbeath was his first stop. He then radiated east and west to nearby towns who would constitute a local ‘derby’ for the ‘beathers. East Fife (Methil), Dunfermline etc. Conversations with his ‘sat-nav’s’ voice were a clever device to reveal his ignorance (and educate those of us who didn’t know Saints Mirren & Johnson were not towns) He’d do a short piece to camera about the merits of each place he visited. Shots of Grandstands, and terrace roofs very much in evidence. and he’d not shy away from the difficulties facing them in this post industrial age….seldom more apparent than in Methil.

home of East Fife F.C.

His last stop – or as far as I got before I started nodding was Alloa , in Clackmannanshire. A town of breweries. Once there were ten, he explained…now there is but the one. It seems many of the Scots are condemned to live in a cheerless central belt which has seen better times. Time swhen the rich lined their pockets and housed many of their factory fodder in ‘schemes’ Remarkably, and quite without any explanation the programmes emphasis then suddenly changed from football grounds to housing. Endless shots of poorly designed ‘all the same’ homes many covered in that awful grey palour which I recognised instantly. Meades reckoned that the populace were denied colour, because it would have been seen as a luxury, presented too cheerful a face to the world. He also touched upon diet, and the awful statistic that makes Scotland the most ‘likely place to be physically attacked’ in Western Europe. Apparently life expectancy is also the lowest in terms of years. As Meades began to compare the baronial homes and grand Castles of Scotland to multi-storey flats and flat roofed council houses my eyes began to close and I turned off the telly. I’ll see it through to the bitter end tomorrow, I reasoned to myself. Next morning I’m thinking about this though and realising it was perhaps the most intelligent programme I’ve seen in a while. Perhaps the finest of all the recent Scotland related output on BBC 4. I’m not saying I agree with some of his dismal observations, as I really do like the place very much. This film concentrated on the Scotland one would avoid on holiday. I’ve been to all of these places though and the depictions were inevitably brief but fairly accurate, and an excellent eye-opener to a country of stark contrasts.