Graffiti from the Southern Half (8)

This is a detail from the mishmash of graffiti on a house (below) very close to our hostal.

Here’s another photo taken from the same spot, looking up the steep road. Our hostel is a distant building on the left.

Memoirs of an Insolvency Practitioner

Any such memoirs will be from memory only. Twelve years after boxing up the diaries that recorded my entire career in detail, I decided that there was no longer any justification for keeping the contents of those boxes.

In deference to the recycling company I laboriously removed all the wire and filled our blue bin with thousands of the shorthand pad sheets that detailed, in fifteen minute segments, many years of work.



Perhaps I ought to write a short piece covering a few highlights of all those years whilst I can still remember them, but rest assured – that won’t reach these pages.
On the other hand…

Sorting through my archives today with a view to passing them on to Grant Thornton (they were collected this afternoon), I did come across something with amusement value:



I think this dates from the late 1970s, before I moved from auditing to insolvency. Where are they all now?

The picture below is of a cricket team that won the Grant Thornton national competition, a prestigious victory as a number of offices sported individuals with ‘Minor Counties’ credentials.



You’ll see (maybe) that I was umpire on this occasion, chosen because I never ever gave anyone out LBW. My eyesight wasn’t good enough! There were some cracking players in that team.

I did occasionally manage to wield a bat. Defence wasn’t my strong point. The short boundary at Alderley Edge was one of the few places that I could clear the boundary fielder. I also remember a ‘What Happened There?’ incident in an away match with our Liverpool office. I turned to the umpire, somewhat flummoxed, recording my belief that ‘but I’m not a bowler’. Gordon Hope looked at me and said ‘Maybe, but although you got that hat trick without any help from the rest of your team, you may have to buy a round later!’ Gordon, a Liverpool partner in the firm suffered the misfortune of being appointed to investigate Ken Dodd’s tax affairs. This didn't do his health any good and he died far too young. Very sad, he was a good man.

On another occasion I was umpiring in a game against our clients, Manchester United. They had some good cricketers. I asked one of their team what he did at United. “Assistant chef” he replied, “but I did play cricket for Glamorgan before that.” Anyway, it got to the last ball of the match. We needed five more runs to win, so all was going well – we could allow our clients victory (etiquette demanded this) and everyone would go home happy. Steve Bruce bowled a wide. I called it very late (wicket keeper Maurice Watkins later came to my defence – he was a good man to have on your side legally, as well as being a splendid cricketer) after our batman had missed the ball, so Steve had another throw go. The ball was hit fairly gently to Martin Edwards (remember him – the Chairman?) for two runs. So we had lost honourably by one run. But we hadn’t – Edwards threw the ball wildly, missing the wicket keeper and allowing two overthrows to be run. So we had won by one run, and my ‘late’ call of a wide was forever held against me. The United contingent spent the next half hour in their dressing room, apart from the only first team player who had turned out, Steve Bruce, who came to the bar at Bowdon Cricket Club saying “anyone would think we’d lost the cup final; I’ll bring Pallister next time, he’ll sort you out!”

Happy days. We lost the United audit shortly afterwards, so never did discover Gary Pallister’s cricketing credentials.

A Brief Visit to a Distant City

It was our good friend Anne’s birthday on Saturday. A church hall had been hired. Old friends would be present.

Earlier we were joined by TGO Challenger John Sheffield for our first visit to Stretford’s parkrun. It was the tenth running of that 5 km event. Our usual venue, Wythenshawe Park, has hosted 221 such events but is currently not available due to a waterlogged course. Stretford is a short, flat, fast course on a hard surface. 444 people turned up. It was crowded. There were a good number of Wythenshawe regulars in evidence, as well as John, whose home run is in Winchester. I tried to go slowly on this first visit, so as to be in a posoition to get a personal best next time. I’m not sure whether that plan worked, as my time was quick, albeit my position was well down the field. A survey of GPS owners indicated the general impression that this course is 200 metres shorter than the one at Wythenshawe, so no wonder that I finished a minute faster than I thought I was running…

Anyway, Sue and I were soon in transit to the distant city, a family visit featuring two shy budgerigars, then the big party with lots of friends.

Notable attendees were Doug and Margaret. Doug was a fine marathon runner in his day, and after his running career ended he completed the TGO Challenge on numerous occasions. He and Howard and Morpeth were most helpful to me at the end of my first Challenge in 2007, if I remember correctly. Doug uses a Phoenix Phreerunner tent just like mine. Margaret was a year ahead of me on the same degree course at UMIST. I hadn’t seen her since about 1973!

The evening was briefly punctuated by a short concert.

The city’s graffiti seemed to have been created by a street sculptor rather than a street artist.

There are some (iconic?) buildings.

The area below was deserted.

Wednesday 20 January 2016 – Affetside Amble

My ears were burning as I drew up at Affetside for my first outing with The Plodders since last April. Times have changed since then. Norman has a Kindle Fire and can access the internet! He’d been extolling the virtues of my report on his Breath of Fresh Air walk around Lancaster.
Plodder Walks seem to be evolving back towards mainstream LDWA walks, today’s outing being the best part of twelve miles. My last ‘Plodder’ walk was a mere six miles. Numbers are up. The regulars (Don, John P, Neil, Phil, Barbara Peter and others) have been joined by some new faces, including Chris Langabeer, today’s leader. He delivered a ‘welcome address’ from a pedestal near Affetside’s medieval cross.

Affetside is at the top of a hill, so the only barrier to quick progress down to Jumbles Country Park was the incidence of a number of stiles that paused the progress of the 21 stumblers plodders.
Neil was full of beans (or whatever else he had for breakfast) at this point, but later he had extracted all available nutrients and needed a short cut to get back to the start.

Since I last saw him, JP has honed his body to a suitable shape for LS Lowry to copy onto his easel. (He’s dead, John!)

It was another ‘Blue Sky’ day, perfectly clear, with the low sun casting long shadows as we progressed along surprisingly mud free paths to Jumbles Country Park.

The grass on the dam at Jumbles Reservoir was a vivid green in the bright sunshine.

Norman has been seen here before. Note the piping system has been changed since this visit in November 2011.

After pulling Norman out of the mire (again) we soon found ourselves strolling down a pleasant lane strewn with No Parking signs.

Chris seemed to spend much of the day leading from the rear. “I know the way” cried the four-eyed monster out in front.

This ornate foot-tunnel is of great benefit to the residents of Horobin Fold, if they want to visit their friends at Torra Barn (or vice-versa). Don and Norman just enjoyed playing hide and seek in it.

Our route joined the Witton Weavers Way for a while. The section below was boarded, so as to avoid a deep bog. There were however numerous complaints about the slippery nature of the boards, perhaps because the plumber at the head of the line was emitting a viscous fluid.

“Sorry about the snot on the boards” announced Norman, “watch me dive into this pool of slime.”
“Take your sunspecs off” advised Don “- it’s grass, not a pool, and the path isn’t that way.” (“You Stupid Man!”)

Norman did eventually park his bottom on the top step (see picture at the head of this posting) and make an important announcement – something to do with the ongoing conception of his great grandchildren, in an attempt by his family to outnumber any other in East Lancashire.
Turton and Entwistle Reservoir was serene in the sunshine. A small group of cormorants was drying out on the white landing stage.

By and by we came upon the Strawbury Duck. It used to be a fine walkers’ pub. Not any more.

Soon afterwards Chris spotted that we were passing The Wellbeing Farm. It was past 1 pm, and he wisely decided that for the wellbeing of his Plodders, two of whom had already been burnt off by the blistering pace, a break for lunch was in order.
Norman nuzzled up to me and grabbed the last piece of cake, whilst three reprobates posed next to the sign. And what an advertisement they are for said farm!

Up above Edgworth, one of the group was caught furtively examining the contents of a Post Box.

Descending through Hawkshaw, past John and Janet’s road, I couldn’t help reflecting on how sad it is that John’s health prevents him from joining us on outings such as this one.

The steep path back up to Affetside was, luckily for those who needed to catch their breath, punctuated by more stiles.

Looking back, there ‘s a fine view over Hawkshaw to Holcombe Moor.

By about 3 pm we were back at Affetside, outside the Pack Horse, still blinded by that pesky sun. Some of the group went in, claiming it was better to wait until after the rush hour to get home.

I joined the pack that were on cooking duty and had to get home before the rush hour. Phil and I paused to admire the medieval cross that apparently served as a waymarker for pilgrims travelling from Bolton (what were pilgrims doing in Bolton?) to Whalley Abbey.

Here’s our route – 18 km with 400 metres ascent, taking around 5 hours.

An excellent day out in superb weather. Apologies to anyone who has been accidentally maligned in the above text. I’m afraid my fading memory sometimes results in minor unintentional insults and inaccuracies, or so I’m told.

A Quiet January in Timperley

Wythenshawe Park is rather waterlogged at present (see picture below). Saturday’s parkrun was cancelled. We went to Woodbank (Stockport) instead. We survived the ice and enjoyed three laps of good exercise.

I’m trying to clear our dining room of boxes of surplus possessions. Nine boxes of books went to the charity bookshop in Bakewell. Other items went to Oxfam in Altrincham. Freecycle and eBay are also being deployed, as well as our local recycling plant. The room remains seemingly full of boxes. Today’s purchase of a shredder will help reduce their number.

The route to and from the recycling plant is along the disused railway line that used to link West Timperley and Glazebrook, as part of a line between Liverpool and Stockport. The track is still there in places.

On Sunday (17 January), Sue and I had planned a visit to the eastern side of the Peak District. However, given the weather as we returned home from Saturday night out in Altrincham – see top picture – we chose the lie-in option instead.

We did however manage a stroll to Dunham Massey and back. As you can see, it was rather a dull, chilly day.

Is that graffiti I see there? (Click to enlarge.)

Dunham Massey had its usual huge quota of visitors.

Then Mike cooked dinner for us, overseen by Millie.

Last night it was good to see Reg and others at Eagley Jazz Club. The Harlem Hot Stompers (great name) overcame the loss of their trombone player by recruiting an accomplished replacement, but Bill Smith’s sudden, but not life-threatening, affliction left them without a trumpet. They managed brilliantly – some great improvisations and solo performances.

That’s it really, with a few omissions such as Cary’s excellent slideshow featuring the Sierra Nevada, and a small reunion meal for some of my old UMIST contemporaries, So why haven’t we found time to go through the 2500 images that we accumulated in Argentina and Chile?

I don’t know. Quiz night tonight. £500 jackpot.

Graffiti from the Southern Half (7)

This house might look rather tatty without the graffiti…

I’ve not attempted to photoshop the deep shadow cast by a telegraph pole in the bright sunshine.