Marco Michael and Joshua Hit Town.

A Cunningham family gathering took place this afternoon at young brother Mike's home outside Durham City. With his youngest, Alice, just back on holiday from Australia where she's learnt to say "Higher Gown?", ( think about it!) when her two brothers Sean and Mark turned up to welcome her home. They in turn brought their two sons Joshua (11 months and 3 weeks) and cousin Marco Michael ( 1 year and 1 week) and of course the boys' proud mums, Angela and Carol.

Marjorie and I turned up as Marco was being comforted by happily besotted Granddad Mike, who although well practised with his own 3, seemed to have lost that certain touch when it came to quietening a just over one year old who is teething! With parents Mark and Angela out checking into a local hotel, Marco was passed around and eventually it was with a decisive swoop that Marjorie took over and showed the lad the big wide world from Mike's front door! Marjorie evidently does have that certain something and it wasn't long before the lusty howls died away, and he was soon sound asleep, but grasping Granddad's big finger tightly with his tiny mitt.

The rest of the family group then arrived from nearby Esh Winning, Sean and Carol and young Joshua . Very much quieter than his slightly older cousin and giving every one of these strangers a grave inspection before responding with wide grins and then helpless giggles as his dad tickled him. Good to see the babies exerting a close feeling on all, especially Gran who suffers from a long term illness of the mind. She evidently enjoys the sights and the sounds of the babies and responds to their boisterous play, and was smiling happily as they rolled around her feet. Alice is very much the career girl, but she too was seen to be having a fond smile at the boys' antics......

A few pictures of a very happy afternoon..












A

Spring is Sprung ( Well, nearly!)

More in the way of chit - chat on how life is treating me.

'Not too badly' is the short reply.

The rejected Bike shed was duly re-packed and made ready for pick up. Not having access to a banding machine we (M.and I) set ourselves to using all the packaging materials in which the shed had been delivered. The results were not at all bad and 3 large string and sticky taped bundles waited over last weekend for collection on Tuesday. As previously mentioned we await the refund with bated breath!

The weather over the North Eastern Coast of the UK has had a very welcome and marked change for the better, with the prevailing Westerlies bringing a milder if slightly moister air to help the drying of the winter floods. Being in what I learned as an 11 year old, the "Rain Shadow" of the Pennine chain of mountains, which run in a roughly North / South direction, from the Scottish Borders to the Peak District, we "East Coastal Dwellers" benefit from the dryer air as it leaves much of its rain to fall on the Western slopes. The local Council's annual display of daffodils which line the approaches to "Sunny Blyth" are about to blossom and are a real sign that Spring is just around the corner.

This drying out of the ground is much more noticeable at my golf course which last month had to call in the heavy gang to drain the soggy fairways. Nature has combined with Man in removing several hundred tonnes of standing water from the surface of the course, and has provided a much harder and dryer ground over which we stride in our ceaseless quest for that perfect golf shot!

The kinder weather has encouraged me to extend even further my cycle rides, and yesterday I achieved the summit of what is probably the only hill within several miles. Now we're not talking of the Mountain Section of the "Tour De France" here , merely a 50- 60 foot gentle rise over about a mile. The Cycle Path is good smooth tarmac and set to one side of the main road leading away from the East Coast and as such, presented a personal goal which I set myself awhile ago. Selecting a medium / low gear at the bottom of the slope I got about half way up before engaging an even lower gear and arrived triumphantly at the top just as the ache in my legs was becoming a bit too much to bear! A rest was indicated and I parked the bike against a fence and swapped pleasantries with an elderly horse which was cropping the grass nearby.

Looking across the fine view to the coast I recalled a 'Walkers' pamphlet which described that very same vista only 50 years ago, as being completely obliterated by the smoking pit heaps of the coal mining industry which polluted the entire area from Seaton Delaval in the South, to the banks of the Blyth River and beyond, to the North. Today those spoil heaps are long gone as is all of the old mining Industry in this Island, which , it was once said, was "Built on Coal" The only relic left standing is the Woodhorn Colliery near Ashington, about 10 miles from Blyth. This now serves as a museum to show our children how "King Coal" once ruled in England.

See here......
http://www.experiencewoodhorn.com/colliery.htm

A Coastal Bike Ride

Well, the Bike Shed has been packed and is ready for pick up next week. I'm promised a refund as soon as it is accepted back to the suppliers, and I look forward to reading the most beautiful sentence in the English language..." .....Our cheque is enclosed!....."

The bike is still being used in a daily attempt to reduce my girth, and today's fine, bright, but chilly weather, tempted me to extend my ride from just a quick, token whiz round the houses, to far off places with strange sounding names, like "Seaton Sluice" and "New Delaval" .

En route I paused to watch members of a model aeroplane club flying their radio controlled models into the light airs above the dunes. The cycle track opens onto the club's designated area and I was intrigued to see a row of metal benches, lining the "Apron". On closer inspection, I discovered that each of the half dozen or so benches had a small plaque which dedicated the seat to the memory of a late and presumably much lamented member of the Flying club. How nice, I thought, for your fellow club members to mark your memory in this way . I've seen this kind of memorial bench, of course, placed by a tee box or a particularly fine view, in golf clubs around the world. But this was completely unexpected, and left me in a rather peaceful mood as I continued with my ride.

Helping to ease the stresses of the cycle ride, I carried the latest technological gizmo that has taken my fancy. My mobile phone has an MP3 feature and keeping up with the youth of today I have a selection of "tunes" which were successfully downloaded ( Oh! I know all these modern "buzz words" !). The headset used to listen to the music is a very neat piece of design. Twin earpieces are connected by an elegantly curved "Alice Band" like apparatus which neatly houses a re-chargeable battery, a discrete "tell tale" light which changes colour according to the status or function of the headset and a simple Off/ On switch. Cleverest of all though is the method of connection ,which is "Bluetooth", so that I can enjoy my music piped in stereo to my ears without any wires, or cables to get in the way. If the outside world wants to contact me, I'm able to take or summarily dimiss the call with a press of a button! So with my mobile stored safely in the cycle's secure frame bag, Bizet's "Carmen Suite No.1" ( Aragonaise) playing in both ears and the gentle breeze behind me, I reach my first port of call...... The Waterford Arms, Seaton Sluice, in very good order. A swift half pint later and I was on my way home!

The Bike Shed Saga..( continued)

A return visit to the DIY section....

Avid readers will be on tenterhooks to know what became of the Great Bike Shed Project that was put on hold last week for want of an undamaged side panel..... Now it can be revealed. Not a lot!

The replacement panel arrived as promised yesterday,and I set to work to erect this Taj Mahal of Bike Sheds! (Not!) Ably assisted by SWMBO I connected the rear two panels together and then both the left and right side panels were securely screwed to the rear panels forming an open box shape. The instructions then called for the base to be nailed through the overhanging 1/2" of the sidewalls. On attempting this I discovered that either the base was one half inch too small or the joined panels were 1/2 " too big. By a bit of juggling I managed to centre the panels on to the base so as to leave the extra width equal at each end, and continued work to construct the door frame, which lent a certain rigidity to the structure, but, as the man said... "Not a Lot!"

By this time I was becoming aware of the obvious shortcomings of this self assembly kit, as the poor quality of the timber panels, so obviously warped and knotted, was reflected in the choice of inferior metal used for the hinges and especially the hasp. It looked like 2mm thick tinplate which could easily be bent and when I saw that the screws by which one was supposed to affix the hasp were 3/4" x 8s, I stopped work in assembling the shed and contacted the makers. Keeping it all very amicable I set out to assure the young lady that I was rejecting the shed as a viable and secure storage for my cycle, and claiming a full refund.

After a bit of resistance and an offer of a partial refund being rejected by me, we got down to the "nitty - gritty and I quoted the UK's Consumer Law applicable in this case, by declaring the shed to be 'Unfit for Purpose' and citing its obvious deficiencies with the phrase " Not of Merchantable Quality".

Confirmation of my rejection came this morning and all I have to do now is to "disarticulate" the shed and have it ready for collection at some date in the near future, and then wait for my bank account to show the reimbursement .

...A Pinch and a Punch...

A Pinch and a Punch for the First of The Month! ( All together now, "White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit!")

Is there anyone who still keeps these old childhood sayings?

When we were kids, the first of the month was routinely celebrated this way, a liberal pinch on the upper arm, swiftly followed by a solid punch on the opposite arm, and then an equally rapid "disclaimer" of "and NO returns!", shouted by your assailant as he hared off to attack some other poor unsuspecting urchin at the far end of the playground. Immunity from attack was claimed by crossing the large fingers of both hands over the forefinger next to it and shouting "I've got skinchers!" If the punching became a bit too enthusiastic, and was returned, then the cry of "Hook!" "Hook!" went up and a circle quickly formed around the struggling pair of blue blazered and grey shorts wearing combatants.

I was thumped a few times in this manner, but being used to this kind of rough play with my brothers, didn't take too much notice and rarely retaliated. One fine morning though, a particularly vigorous attack got to me and I turned "inside" his next swing and thumped him mightily on the end of his nose, producing a most satisfactory spray of blood . Immediately the cry of "Hook!" went up and we pair were surrounded by a cheering ring of our school mates all keen on seeing just how long we would provide them with this free entertainment. Heroically sniffing the dripping blood back up his nose, this lad then went for me and landed a good right on my left cheek, and knocked my specs flying into the crowd. The impact jarred me and the sudden loss of vision made me hesitate. My opponent seized the initiative and pressed forward, fists flying, all caution thrown to the winds. An odd calmness came over me, and probably for the first time ever, I controlled my temper, allowing this lad enough room to charge past me when I simply picked my target and landed a hefty thump onto his right ear,which sent him sprawling in to the open arms of our Form Master. A sudden deathly hush fell over the crowd and it began to melt away like ice cream in Summer. "You two! Head's office! Now!" The three commands rapped out like a sudden hailstorm on a tin roof, and we pair shuffled off to join the small bunch of other miscreants already "Tapping the boards" ( waiting for the Head Master's Punishment). The odd feeling of detachment was still gripping me, and knowing that our Head Master was a stickler for a smart turn out, I sauntered along to the washroom and scrubbed as much of the dirt off my flushed face as could be seen and replaced my specs. which had been caught by a friend and were miraculously undamaged, and casually sauntered back in time to face the music.

Time, nearly 60 years, has more or less obscured the rest of the day's happenings but I do recall the parting words of the Head....." Don't you ever let down your proud family names again, boys! "

A History Lesson

..... I thought I'd share this recently received and fairly plausible list of how some names and sayings came about.

In The 1500's



The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

These are interesting...

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married..


Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all theother sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water..


Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying It's raining cats and dogs.



There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house.. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.



The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing.. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance way. Hence the saying a thresh hold.



(Getting quite an education, aren't you?)



Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special.. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat..



Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.



Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.



Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days . Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.



England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people.. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell..
Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer.



And that's the truth...Now, whoever said History was boring ! ! !