Our next stop on our journey around the back roads and byways of Britain was at a school field tucked away in Willaston. It was time to meet some charming folk.
Sadly we were a little late, having been delayed first by a Rose Queen’s parade and then by the need to pull in and wait for a magnificent steam engine as it passed. But that’s fine, we were in search of B-Road Britain – and we found it.
Our late arrival meant we didn’t witness much of the World Worm Charming Championships, but we were still in time to be astounded at the bewildering array of devices used to persuade the local worms to appear and be counted: garden forks aplenty, sticks, basketballs, xylophones and even a euphonium. Baking hot sun and a spell of dry weather meant that records were unlikely to be broken, but we didn’t stop to see the prizes awarded in any case. We’d spotted something interesting earlier in the day and decided to head back for a closer look.
Our trip around the highways and byways of Britain took us through Derbyshire, across the Pennines and into Cheshire.
We passed through Smalltown, where I used to live, so we took a little detour to allow me to point out my old house to Mr TLC. It was rather strange to drive through the area where I grew up, but which I haven’t visited for more than two decades. A little nostalgia is always nice, but I can’t say I’ve missed the place.
We headed off for our first planned stop, which is one of my favourite places: Jodrell Bank, home to the University of Manchester’s beautiful radio telescope.
The first thing that strikes you about the Lovell telescope is its sheer size: with a height of up to 89 metres (depending on exactly how it is oriented) and a bowl diameter of 76 metres it really is impressive.
Mr TLC had his usual effect – he is after all the man who can make Tower Bridge open just by expressing the desire to see it do so. He casually mentioned that he would like to see the telescope move. Sudden creaks, whirrs and the sounds of various motors indicated that Mr TLC was about to get his wish. First we were treated to the sight of the whole structure rotating on the railway tracks it sits on. This occurred at a surprisingly fast speed – the telescope moves constantly, to correct for the earth’s rotation, but normally rather more imperceptibly. Then the dish tilted downwards until it was almost facing us. It was a treat to watch.
There’s various other things to see and do there: a planet trail, an arboretum to visit, a couple of parabolic dishes that will allow you to whisper sweet nothings to someone standing several metres away. We skipped the 3D theatre, but we did stop off to say hello to Copernicus before heading off to meet some charming folk.
Posted by: Lois Lindemann on: June 25th, 2010 Posted in: Everything Tags for this post: Leave a comment
Way back in the time known as 2007, Mr TLC and I spent a few happy evenings in the televisual company of Mr Robbie Coltrane, as he wended his way from London to Glasgow via the nation’s B-roads.
Actually, the London to Glasgow business was a little misleading, since Robbie’s journey took him veering from one side of the country to the other and back again. But hey, it was only a TV show, we didn’t need geographical or temporal realism.
What we did get was a wonderful pastiche of people and places. We loved it.
We’ve always been tempted to follow in Mr Coltrane’s footsteps and set off on a B-Road odyssey of our own. Tomorrow we’re actually doing it: a trip that will start with the dish of the day, before taking us to meet some charming folk and ending on a high point.
It’s the silliest day out that I’ve ever planned. Can’t wait.
Posted by: Lois Lindemann on: June 23rd, 2010 Posted in: Life Tags for this post: Mr TLC. Leave a comment
Mr TLC has arrived at a more interesting age.
On his last birthday, I suggested that he could spend his days carrying the good folk of Crookes to Woodhouse and back, but apparently he didn’t see himself as that kind of 52. Now he is back in his prime. (I am not currently in my prime, but will be next birthday. There’s a maths question in there somewhere.)
Anyhoo, birthdays mean cake and Mr TLC requested the ultra-sweet vanilla sponge and butter cream confection that is favoured by No-Longer-a-Baby A, so that’s what he got, complete with chocolate buttons. Seems to be going down well.
I asked him how many candles he would like. Apparently there’s only one possible answer to that question.
Longest day? Not here it isn’t. Some of us are off to bed ridiculously early thank you very much.
Going to bed in the daylight is something I associate with childhood, so it seems rather appropriate given the cause of my tiredness. What cause would that be? Someone had a rather sleepless night last night. And why is that appropriate? Well, someone watched Dr Who last night (and rather good it was too, in all of its splendid silliness). Then she had a nightmare, about Dr Who. Honestly, it’s like I’ve regressed to being six years old or something.
So, a startled awakening from alarming dreams featuring a curious mixture of Matt Smith, Stonehenge and a long forgotten Tom Baker episode with some rather dodgy stones that preferred wandering about attacking people to the more traditional pursuit of standing about in a circle. Then two hours of not being asleep at all.
A comedy about a motley crew of wannabe jihadists – it doesn’t sound promising does it? But I’d heard good things about it and besides, it was mostly filmed in Sheffield and I’m always up for a bit of location-spotting. Last night we finally set off to see Chris Morris’ debut feature film, Four Lions[nb link contains spoilers].
It was brilliant. We were laughing within moments, at one point I was laughing so much I cried. The comedy is very much on the black side, but Four Lions has far more in common with the humour of Dad’s Army than the grisly nature of say, Platoon.
We also had huge fun doing some location-spotting[hat tip to Sheffield Blog – and more spoilers via both of those links – including in the trailer!! , even the bits set in London are mostly Sheffield. Some were easy spots (Meersbrook Park is a favourite haunt and I see Kebabish most days on my commute), but others were trickier: we still aren’t entirely certain about our identification of the precipitously steep Jenkin Road and we completely failed to notice that one ‘London’ scene was actually filmed on the roof of the cinema where we were watching it. In fact Chris Morris seems to have featured some of our favourite haunts – how did we fail to spot any filming going on last summer?
Just occasionally, I encounter a film that I already want to see again by the time the final credits roll. I’ve just got to decide whether this one gets a second viewing at the cinema or whether I wait for the DVD.
Personally, I’m glad I didn’t see this trailer before I saw the film (too many spoilers – and many scenes that are much funnier in context than out of it), but I’ve giggled at it several times since
It may be unpatriotic, it may even be treasonous, but I’m going to say it anyway: football bores me to tears.
I’ve no problem with other people liking it, nor do I mind the fact that almost everyone else in Eng-er-land has festooned their home/car/bicycle/cat with Eng-er-land flags, I just don’t really want to join in.
Unfortunately that may be slightly difficult, since apparently every bar, pub, living room and even my school will be showing matches.
Still, I’m always up for a challenge, so I resolved to avoid watching any of the World Cup: no sitting through it at the pub to be polite, no sitting through it at home when Mr TLC inevitably gets swept along by the national euphoria. I’m not doing this to make a big point, I just prefer to use my time for the things that I either need to do or want to do.
Tonight, on our way out of the Showroom Cinema, we stopped off to use the toilets in the bar. ‘Hmm, what’s that in the corner?’ I thought to myself. Ah, that’ll be a blooming great screen showing (yes, you’ve guessed it) the World Cup.
Something tells me my strategy of quietly ignoring it is not going to work…
Even our cat-phobic neighbour fell under the spell of the furry menace once he only had three legs. Unfortunate? Certainly. But most definitely ad-awww-able.
Today started like so many other days: I woke up and found my furry companion of the last 18 years, George (aka Black Cat) sitting next to me. I got up and stumbled to the bathroom. George galumphed along with me, as was his wont. It being breakfast time, George nommed his morning meal of mince à la medicine with great enthusiasm. We are (mostly) creatures of habit, George and I.
I stopped off on the way back to bed to switch on my newly de-Vistaed PC, so that my rather large collection of files could finish synching. George was having none of that nonsense, he galloped back to the bedroom to await the next step in our morning ritual: all mornings start with food and much George cuddling, there’s some kind of cat law about that.
To say there was no sign of what was about to happen next would be untrue: George was 18, he had outlived his more famous three-legged brother by four years, despite having the same thyroid condition plus a side order of arthritis. When the vet told us last summer that George had developed a lump in his stomach we knew we getting near the end, especially when the lump started to grow rapidly. We decided to go for days out rather than a holiday, so that we could spend George’s last summer at home with him. We didn’t expect him to make it very far through it.
George – aided by really excellent treatment from our vet – had other ideas. We asked the vet to help us to keep him comfortable and happy, which is exactly what happened. Provided George took his assorted medication and we left a light on for him to see at night he was fine: he still charged around the house, played with catnip mice, hunted real ones (ably assisted by the younger paws of Ginger Cat); got into fights (which seemed to me to be a bit like a 90 year old getting into punch ups, but who am I to judge?) and generally did as he pleased.
We didn’t think that he would make the end of the summer holidays, but he did. One minor miracle occurred – the ominous lump stopped growing and caused no further problem, but the real miracle came from the vet – we’ve enjoyed four years with George that we wouldn’t have had without their help. He was still with us at half-term, then Christmas and then finally, seemingly-impossibly, George was 18 years old. Not bad for a moggy who spent his early years acquiring as many injuries and vet appointments as he could manage.
The end wasn’t unexpected, but the suddenness of it was. One minute he was contentedly purring and demanding cuddles, the next he had lost control of his body and was obviously dying. I thought the seizure would be the end, but he came out of it, although by that point he was clearly in no state to carry on. There was only one decision we could make: an unexpected trip to the vet, a lot of tears and a George-shaped hole in our lives. After 18 years of having him as my shadow, his absence feels very strange.
This is where I blither on about life, the universe and everything - sometimes even three-legged cats.
I am: a resident of Sheffield (it's been my home town for more than 20 years), a Londoner, a teacher of maths and ICT and a student of French.
I like: cats, Sheffield, walking, doing the pub quiz, maths, cooking, reading, red wine, theatre, weekends in London, cycling, eating out, museums, gardening, going to the cinema, real ale, learning French and spending far too much time online. (My partner, Mr TLC, says this is making me sound like a lonely hearts ad. Oh well.)
Any opinions expressed in this blog are my own, I don't claim to speak for anyone else in education or outside of it. If you disagree, feel free to comment!
Posted by: Lois Lindemann on: June 29th, 2010 
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Our next stop on our journey around the back roads and byways of Britain was at a school field tucked away in Willaston. It was time to meet some charming folk.
