Quite a few years ago, we did a thread on favourite venues, with the emphasis on the quirky and the oddball. I recall that my contribution to that thread was Buxton Opera House. I was put in mind of this when I went to the first Durham Folk Festival, a couple of weekends ago. This is the successor to Hartlepool Folk Festival, which felt it needed to slip off its skin in order to grow. I had a fine old time, as I will reference in the Takeover, no doubt. But it wasn’t just about the artists’ roster. The organisers really justified the move by making the most of what the city had to offer. This leant in to different historical and cultural strands, plus, above all, the architecture. What riches!

The Wilsons are patrons of the festival and it was a delight to catch them several times. They opened the show in Redhills, the historic home of the Durham Miners Association, in the room which held the ‘Pitmens’ Parliament’ – a neo-baroque council chamber, steeped in democracy, co-operation and socialism. ‘Not too shabby’ observed Mike Wilson (aka the best singer in the land – other opinions are available, but » Continue Reading.

Photographs chronicled my younger life. It was just given that there would be a record of high days and holidays – especially holidays. They were definitely photographs and not ‘snaps’. Where others couldn’t quite treat photography as the equivalent of other arts, I always could, surrounded as I was by family who could compose a picture, judge the light, wait for the moment. This was hardly surprising given that my grandfathers, despite both being born in modest circumstances in the nineteenth century, were early adopters of the camera. In turn, my third brother has made a living in film and certainly knows how to take a still.

So, in turn, when I went off round the world in my twenties, long before the days of digital freedom, I took nigh on two thousand shots. I chose slides, as I imagined settling down to evenings illustrating my trip to eager friends. I always had an SLR and a polarising filter – vital for the low latitudes of the southern hemisphere. So it continued with every European cycling trip and visit to expatriate brothers, though in latter years, the record was digital.

But I went to visit said third brother in Kenya » Continue Reading.

So, we’ve all voted for our best album of 2025, and we wait with bated breath for the final results. But what are the chances that you got to hear the album that would really scintillate, that would perk up your jaded (old) musical palate? Think back. Those albums that seem to have travelled with you all your life – how many did you actually pick up on straight away? I was 13 when Hejira was released, so way too young to get its worldweariness or to appreciate its depths. I was twice that age when my travelling feet led me to the sweetspot where it would become the perfect soundtrack. Even artists that I already knew somehow could release something below my radar, usually due to me being personally preoccupied – I’ve had a few fallow years. Hell, I already knew Kate Bush, but The Dreaming came out towards the end of 1982, so I didn’t pick up on it for a few months by which time it was ‘so last year’. But it was definitely my album of the year – just not the year it was released.

My list for last year was well considered and included » Continue Reading.

I had a holiday in Turkish Cyprus last month. Driving back from the airport, I was startled to see a couple of young lasses, dressed up for a Saturday night, hitching at the side of the road. They weren’t the only hitchers I saw during the week. It’s years since I’ve seen anyone hitching in the UK; the last time I picked someone up was some time in the late 10s in Wiltshire, when I was driving between festivals,.

I thumbed my first lift when I was 12 years old. It seems staggering looking back. My mother was as protective as any other, yet she never expressed any worry about this. That was the 70s. It’s true, I was already 6 foot, like my brothers before me, all of whom hitched regularly up and down the country. I would sometimes get lifts from drivers who knew them. All through my teens and twenties, I could get all over the place and it made freedom affordable. Back then, money was shorter than time, so it was worth giving up the extra time for the free ride. I enjoyed the journey too. Mr Extrovert enjoyed the various conversations and loved the HGV » Continue Reading.

No, this is not the November Wordle thread. That’s over there https://theafterword.co.uk/wordle-please-to-remember-the-fifth-letter-of-november/

I know there are some on this blog who think that we don’t really have enough Wordle threads, so here’s a related one. Wordle is, of course, a gateway drug. You move on to Quordle, with its additional weekly bonus challenge. Once there, you find a link to Octordle. These almost make my breakfast recreation complete. The latter two are a different challenge from Wordle; it’s a little easier to try out whole ranges of letters, as there is none of your asterisked hard version where you are obliged to use existing successful letters. Having an opening brace of words makes inevitable sense to minesweep all the vowels; my favoured pair is UNITY and AROSE, though other combinations like ADIEU and SHOWY are available.

But this is not the hard stuff. A drop down menu leads you to Octordle Rescue, and this is what I am here to commend. The system generates four opening words that no sentient human being would choose themselves. Often, not all vowels have been exhausted at this stage, which can leave some boards with only a misplaced consonant to give a clue. You » Continue Reading.

As promised, I am hosting November Wordle at Korineum Golf Club in Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, or in occupied territory if you prefer. Lovely weather for it at this time of year, though you may want something warmer to throw over your shoulders for the evening. My brother and sister-in-law are members here, and I have just had a lovely week in their company. Catch up with family; nice local food; a couple of good walks; finished a few books; learnt a few songs: perfect holiday. Oh, and thankyou for wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Tomorrow is a busy day, so I thought it best to be ready for the early dawn in Gisborne NZ.

It’s a year since someone jumped in front of my train. Many of you contributed and supported through the thread that I started subsequently. I have felt for a while that there were reflections that I’d like to share here, but I really had intended that this would not be some kind of anniversary post.

Yet here I am on the third Sunday of July, and I’ve just finished my shift again. Some of these thoughts might give the impression that they are preying on my mind. That’s really not the case; I am not anxious, downcast, overly thoughtful, but I suppose I am a little more reflective at the moment. I can’t escape the date. It just is; it’s there, popping up to remind me, and has been for weeks as it approached. As I pulled in to Salford Crescent Station today, just five minutes from shift’s end, a little thought just appeared, to say ‘Well, this is how far you didn’t get to last year. Well done.’

So, how did it play out? As I anticipated, I really didn’t suffer too badly. I had a medical assessment about nine weeks later (I was under my gazebo at » Continue Reading.

It’s nine weeks since ‘the incident’, as it is always known on the railway. It is also the first weekend since then, where I have had the whole weekend to myself, sleeping in my own bed. My phased return to work means I don’t have to set the alarm until Wednesday. That has presented the opportunity of a little home cooking, so off to market I did go on Friday morning to buy the wherewithal for some comfort food. I am glad and grateful to have grown up with the habit of Sunday lunch and, on this damp day, I can think of few things better. Only, I have indulged my taste buds every day of this long long weekend. When I get the chance to catch the lads from Fleetwood on a Friday morning, I make the most of it; so it was tuna on Friday and salmon yesterday. My choice of Sunday lunch may surprise, but one of my weekend treats is liver and onions, mash, garnished with some streaky, a ring of black pudding, gravy of course, ‘shrooms and there are few times when I don’t think that broccoli enhances a main course. Delicious! I’ll still have » Continue Reading.

Trigger warning. This is not about M*A*S*H. This is about the real thing. I guess it’s possible that this could be upsetting for some.

Ah well. I’d got away with it for 24 years, but statistically, after all those years as a train driver, there was always the likelihood. Someone jumped in front of my train. Spectacularly, most definitely deliberately. They wanted to go; they even turned to face the train as it took them out. It is a strange strange thing to witness – someone deliberately putting themselves in harm’s way. ( I should not prejudice the outcome of the coroner’s court, but then again, I am the key witness, so my statement will heavily influence the conclusion. I did check with the police that I am in the clear to talk publicly. ) I have two angles on this, giving prior knowledge. I’m a union rep and in that capacity I have spoken to so many colleagues who have gone through this. Some are deeply affected and take months to get back in the cab. Some can’t bear to see a train for weeks – I caught one to the pub the next day. I am and will » Continue Reading.

Anyone got any reports to share?

and other quaint non-existent traditions.

Inexplicably, Royal Hoylake wouldn’t deign to extend an invitation to their competition tees, so we are stuck with Altrincham Municipal.

I’ve set this up in time for the early birds in NZ, but note that the first hole that will count will be no.1047.

I’ve just returned from a three week holiday in South East Asia. I’ve grown up with a taste for travel, even working in the industry for a while, and it had been a while since I’d visited a country new to me, but this trip really refreshed my taste buds. Of course, that was true both figuratively and literally. When I travel, one of the first things I’m interested in is the local cuisine. I’m an inquisitive traveller; I seek out the points of difference, the individuality and character of a place, and food is an obvious starting point. Another thing that I pick up on immediately, telling me that I’m in new territory, is the birdsong. They speak in tongues them birds, and their chatter is as foreign as the local lingo. My favourite way of visiting a country is on a pushbike, as I did on this trip. You move slow enough to hear the ambient sounds, to be able to stop and check whatever that was that you caught out of the corner of your eye; yet fast enough for the scenery to keep changing. Perhaps surprisingly, I don’t go to countries planning to pick up on » Continue Reading.

Yin and Yang. Jekyll and Hyde. Harrow and Wealdstone, or something. Anyway, in true Afterword tradition, we are bound to answer @Vincent’s Game Over thread with its complement. What about artists who, far from outstaying their welcome, actually went out on a high? Of course, there are those artists whose early passing left us wondering what riches were denied to us – Hendrix, Nick Drake, Kirsty, to pick a sample. What I would give for Sandy Denny’s 80s and 90s output. But that’s not my enquiry here. What about acts who chose to complete their output when you felt they still had so much more to give? I know my answer, and it’s a band that appeared in the abovementioned thread, as some felt they had indeed lost it after a certain point. I disagree. For me, XTC were still penning belters even while no-one was listening. Wasp Star still had plenty of hooks to spare after the majesty of Apple Venus. In fact, since he had deferred to Andy the first time round in recognition of how much was spilling out in those sessions, Colin comes out with some of his best songs on Wasp » Continue Reading.

“Phenology refers to the timings of cyclical or seasonal biological events, such as migrations, egg laying, flowering, and hibernation. Many species of plants and animals have life cycle events that are influenced by climatic factors.” So says sciencedirect.com

I’ve lived in this house for 23 years. It’s in the middle of a country estate, so we have a good variety of habitats to hand. There’s farmed land, both arable and pastoral. There’s woodland: some managed for timber; some managed for shooting; some left to its own devices. There’s gardens (yes, yes, I know that should have been ‘there are’, but it doesn’t sound suitably folksy). There’s dilapidated farm buildings with inviting eaves. There’s even an ornamental lake (oh, how I love to give people directions to the house over ‘the ornamental lake’). Ok, so we’re lacking in savannah and I’d love a bit of tropical rainforest, some craggy moorland or maybe even some coastline, but I’m doing pretty well, right?

Over those 23 years, I’ve observed the seasonal patterns. Migrations come and go; that’s what they’re meant to do, after all. The martins and swallows love those unimproved barns with their nesting holes; the geese migrate by local landmarks, such » Continue Reading.

But mainly advice. Unsolicited advice. Why do people give it?

I have been suffering from a back problem for a year or so. I started dealing with it, as I always would, as a muscular problem, treated by sports physio – a qualified sports physio. But it has proved to be something other than a muscular problem, as I have found by talking to medically qualified professionals, whose advice, informed by years of training and experience, I have followed. At times it is evident to the naked eye that I am in pain, or am not walking or standing correctly, but even when it is not, I am candid when asked ‘How are you?’ by acknowledging that I’m not well. Mistake!

What is it with people that they think they are somehow uniquely qualified to advise on matters medical, further that I have some obligation to put their advice into practice? If I took all of this advice in equal proportion, my day would not start until I had completed hours of stretches and exercises; I would simultaneously be applying hot and cold packs; I would be in the sea; I would be in fresh water; I would doubtless do » Continue Reading.

Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Personally, I’m not in favour of it. I’ve lived, worked and holidayed in some very hot climates and, if it’s my choice, I turn off the air-con. I may have a grudge, not least as I am pretty certain that some dodgy air-con system triggered my asthma for the first time, some 25 years ago. Dress for the climate. Build for the climate. Bend your activities to the climate. Don’t make air-con standard just so you can dress up like someone from Mad Men, even though you work in the Tropics.