Ten Years

I started this blog on 11th August, 2014, which means it has been going ten years as of today. The idea was to write a kind of autobiography covering how life has changed in England since I was little. 

The changes are many. After the war we still had ration books, bombed buildings, gas lights in the street, and Prefab houses. Later, in Leeds in the 1970s, my job took me to banks, building societies, manufacturers, merchants, shops, publishing and entertainment concerns, and businesses of all kinds that packed the city and further afield. Nearly all have gone. You could take evening classes in almost anything, and there were four or five cinemas in the city centre. The Leeds trams were no more, but sometimes I had to use the trolley buses in Bradford. 

I then went late to university, which led to a new career near the edge of the computer revolution, and saw change as it took place. I suppose I played a small part in it. I also came late to having a family, which has been great fun. I wanted to write it all down. 

There were few readers at first, but when I began to comment more on other blogs a few years ago, and chanced upon this friendly community, things began to pick up a bit. 

At times during the last two-and-a-half years I thought I would not see this day. I was as good as told it, but I am still here. The next milestones are more fruits of the garden, my birthday, and then Christmas. And then we will be into 2025 and hopefully it all comes round again. Or will it? That sounds gloomy, I know, but it is what it is, and that is all there is to it. 

It does not get easier, as my comment and response rates are beginning to show. The list of what I can no longer do, am not allowed to do, or would be stupid to try, is depressingly long. My reading difficulties make blogging slow and difficult, and I have thought of giving up, but it is one of the things that keeps me going, and I still have posts to write. I enjoy the exchange of humour, ideas, and opinions, reading what others have posted, and writing creatively. I am amazed others read it. Thank you so much, everyone. 

The White Stool

I keep this stool in the greenhouse. It is a bit too narrow to be stable when you stand on it, so I use it mainly to sit on. The greenhouse is a lovely bright warm place to sit on your own for an hour or two, not talk to anybody, and do absolutely nothing. 

The stool is very old, at least a hundred years I would guess, possibly more. It came from my mother’s parents and might have been made by her father or an earlier relative. The legs are fixed by nice tight mortice and tenon joints. Rough and ready, but not many could knock up something like that now. 

I painted it white as a child in 1964 or 1965 when I developed a craze for painting things. Well, it’s better than gawping at a screen all day as they do now. Weren’t we lucky to be able to play with tools and messy and dirty things in untidy sheds, rather than having to live in the empty, pristine houses and gardens that seem to be fashionable now. 

We used to use it as a cricket wicket. Here it is with my eight-year-old brother in 1964 in front of the coal house. He has his eyes tight shut. I said his bowling was so rubbish I could hit it with my eyes closed, and proved it. He said that mine was no better, and had to prove it too.