Staying Sober

Sunday

I’ve always associated Decathlon with Daley Thompson until I became aware of the store, which we visit for the first time today. Mrs M and I are in amongst the young, fashionable, out-of-doors types, searching for new training shoes. We get what we want. Then it comes to the checkout. I’ve met some confusing ones in my time but need an assistant to explain this one. He tells us to simply drop the items into a tray. As we do the details and prices flash up on the screen. Blimey!

Monday

#mondaymemories

Sketching Club this morning. On a bright but cool day we convene in the upstairs room of the Spread Eagle before heading to our positions. I settle on a bench near the Dinosaur’s footprint (sounds more exciting than it is) and look across the Lower Dam towards a row of houses at the bottom of the quaintly named Dingle.

It is my first appearance in the village with sketchbook and, thankfully, no one I know spots me. So concentrated am I that Mrs M parks up on the way to keep fit and tries to attract my attention without effect. I remain anonymous for an hour and a half by which time the cold sets in and I head back to the Snug with its roaring fire.

Blue Peter began 65 years ago today, appropriately, as this was the day when I remember watching. Another year and it will become the BBC’s old age pensioner. When the programme started back in 1958 I was a few weeks into my first term at primary school in Austwick. That’s quite a stretch.

Tuesday

I watch Mrs M deliver a short talk at genealogy about some of my family history. It is a fascinating story which Stephen Spielberg should know about. In essence Matthew, a farmer, and wife Jane leave the parochial Yorkshire Dales, bound for a new life in America as Mormons. Does young Matthew remind you of anyone!? Look no further for a leading actor, Mr Spielberg. I’m ready to sign.

Thursday

The monthly u3a meeting attracts record numbers for an expose about the real meaning behind Nursery Rhymes. Our speaker carefully intertwines the rhymes into a historical context. Sex, violence, multiple executions, horror. They were all here in a  fascinating X rated certificate presentation. ‘Ring a Ring o Roses’ was about the Great Plague of 1665. The ‘rosie’ was the malodorous rash that developed on the skin of bubonic plague sufferers, the stench of which needed concealing with ‘a pocketful of posies’. Not something to share with the grandchildren.

Speaking of which, grandson pops in after Beavers, his uniform festooned with badges and four more in his hand. It took me all my time in Cubs to get four proficiency badges. No Beavers back then for me, of course. It was my stamp collection that got me ‘Collector’. And they say that philately gets you nowhere. A scratty bit of earth near the back gate at home was the site of my attempts to gain ‘Gardener’. Then there was ‘First Aid’, with a symbol like an unravelling toilet roll, and ‘House Orderly’, whatever that involved. I must have benefited from gaining it because I can still find my cub jumper.

Friday

You’re never too old to learn. Today a 94 year old shows me how to make a cup of coffee. With Storm Babet making its presence felt we postpone a planned walk and visit Susan’s aunty in Clitheroe. I offer to make coffee and face a gadget that baffles me. I have never made a cup of coffee with a machine before. Aunt hoists herself out of her reinforced chair, clings on to her walking frame and eases herself into the kitchen to guide me through the process.

On the news Kier Starmer is celebrating victory in the by election at Tamworth FC, one of many grounds where I covered matches for Fleetwood Town. I remember the sweet taste of victory there in 2010, somewhat tempered post match. As I conducted an interview on the pitch a teammate who shall remain nameless walked past and deliberately passed wind. Loudly. An early example of VAR. Very awful reek.

Saturday

We are in Skipton ahead of a family party. Before that there is time for a stroll round the town of my birth. Walking along the cobbles and past the terraced houses brings back fond memories of childhood visits. I pause outside the Craven Herald where Dad started his journalistic career behind that upstairs window.

We are here to celebrate cousin Dot’s 70th. The cousins are out in force. As children play excitedly around us we remember parties as kids on farms not far from where Matthew Bell set off all those years ago. Today’s children are two generations on. It’s one of several sobering experiences this week, starting with the checkout at Decathlon and including yesterday’s coffee lesson which nephew Matthew describes as an example of Reverse Mentoring. Good job I didn’t reverse too quickly in the picture.