Mrs Gnomepants v2.0 introduced me to a thing where whenever you see an animal in an old film, say older than 20 years, you point out to whoever is listening that the animal is dead now.
“But wait!” you say, “2008 is less than 20 years ago, ipso facto, you may be wrong if you’re about to say the horse in this picture is now the glue on the back of a stamp”. Ah but no. I know more than you….
Along the opposite side of the Lane with No Name to the houses were lovely undeveloped fields. Legend has it that this was the site of the former Brierley Colliery hence why no houses were ever built on it. Other tales and theories include a wealthy farmer buying the land for tuppence hapenny from the mine owners, an ancient covenant linked to Moses and aliens using it as a base to extract liver fat from rotund Yorkshire folk.
Regardless, in the field lived a couple of randy horses. Randy because one of them would be constantly trying to hump the other and would often make the most frightful noises. Today’s picture shows one of the horses.
Sadly, about a year after this photo was taken, some awful types poisoned the horse for some reason (Apparently this is a common thing to occur to horses according to a couple of horse owners I’ve spoken to since). But still, I was fond of the horse as it would often poke its head through the hedge to say hello when I was parking my car.
I thought I’d resurrect this meme I started but didn’t finish last year again. Likelihood is I’ll probably do a few then stop again, but hey, I’m a busy badger these days what with all the zombie killing and space faring I’ve got going on.
Anyway, long term readers (hello if you’re still reading), will remember when I lived in Yorkshire, my house backed onto the fabled Lane-with-No-Name, an access route for brewery wagons making deliveries at the village working men’s club at the end.
As you may remember, the lane often featured in posts due to the hive of activities recorded on hidden CCTV cameras there – well, my webcam at least which I would place in the back bedroom window with motion sensing software recording any and all activity there.
Dodgy types those Yorkshire folks you know. They’d get up to all sorts of mischief all of which would be caught on my camera and discussed on Livejournal. — who could forget the timeless classics of G-the-Human-Dog having a crafty fag and weird badger thing…..
Long term readers might remember Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 was a multitalented artist, but if you are new, this will probably be news.
This is the Green Man, taken today in 2007, which Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 sculpted out of clay for our second house, the one in Barnsley. It is a hollow plant pot holder with an entry on the top which you can’t see from this angle. We coated him in yogurt before putting him outside so that the moss would grow over his face.The idea was that he would age through time and become greener and greener with the moss and his ivy hair would add to the effect.
I don’t know what he looks like now but I’m sure he’s doing well.
I love growing rhubarb me. I’m not overly keen on eating it, though I will, but I love growing it.
My grandfather had a fine crop of rhubarb behind his greenhouse. My dad would often relate how he would have to go out with a bucket after the milkman’s horse so he could collect the manure for the rhubarb. He prefered custard though.
Today’s picture shows a crop grown from a head provided by old friend Carole. It has fired the rhubarb growing urge once more and, once I have a job, an income and allowed to go out, I intend to get a new head of rhubarb for our tiny garden.
Taken to document possibly one of the proudest moments of my life, today’s picture shows how a GCSE in Physics, a bit of string, some baking trays and a slow leaking radiator valve can all be combined to prevent a fuse box from shorting out and causing a disaster.
Having been notified that there was water dribbling from the upstairs bathroom, down the kitchen wall and into the meter cupboard, investigations revealed that the valve from the recently removed radiator had burst due to age and was issuing water at a very slow rate but sufficient enough to be problematic.
Application of a spanner reduced the leak to a slight dribble but the resulting issuance was in that awful hinterland of too much and too little. Then the long dead Mr O’Malley’s tobacco stained voice echoed in my head and said – “Capillary Attraction”.
A visit to the shed to collect some string and grabbing a handful of containers later, I had fashioned a rudimentary collection device which stopped the flow downstairs until such a time as the emergency plumber could attend.
I still remember his face when he saw what I had done and if you look up the word Impressed in a Pictionary, you’ll see that same face.
If I fell through a hole in time and travelled back 45 years. If I then looked out of my bedroom window across the field behind the lane with no name and beyond the field behind the field behind the lane with no name, not only would I have upset Mrs Edson’s daughter, but I would have seen the winch wheel of a pit stack.
On my road in Brierley is a lovely Georgian hall with a horrid 1960s extension that, until recently, was used by the council as offices.
In Barnsley Council’s unfettered intelligence, towards the end of last year, the offices and hall were vacated and put on the market. It was very sad as the hall is lovely (apart from the horrid extension) and rumours abound that developers were rubbing their hands together at the prospect of more land to build houses on.
However the hall, being a historic one, is listed and demolishing it would prove to be expensive and controversial. When I saw the boards going over the windows I said “Well it won’t be long until that burns to the ground will it?”
True enough, this morning on my way into uni I espied 2 fire appliances in attendance and policemen busily closing off the road. Yep. Some horrid bastard scally has set fire to it. Gone is the historic flooring; gone will be the lovely panelling and gone is any chance of the council meeting the reserve placed on it when it goes to auction next week. Call me cynical but I wouldn’t be surprised if now the whole thing gets razed to the ground and a lovely featureless warren of cloned houses get built on the land.
Thank fuck I’m not going to be here when the village gets ruined.
It’s kicking off in the Lane with no name (Lwnn). For those who don’t remember the Lane with no name is the lane that runs along the back of Gnomepants manor and connects the other 4 houses to the outside world without having to use the front steps which nobody uses which are steep. In times past it was also used as access for brewery vehicles to the Village Club but they don’t use it any more as they have better vehicles these days.
What was that?
Fireworks dear go back to sleep
Are you sure?
So I got out of bed, put on my jeans and slippers and went into the lane-with-no-name. Flames, at least 10 foot high were licking the trees on the boundary of the Brierley Social Club and Mr Pritchards garden. Behind which 3 or 4 cars were parked! All of which were on fire and going POP with frightening regularity.
“What can you see?”
“Call the fire brigade!”
4am in the morning. The fire brigade are there now, the lane blocked at the top by a car, their access not thwarted because of the nature of hoses.
This is the fourth fire in as many weeks. Looks like Brierley has an arsonist.
Sometimes going outside of Gnomepants Manor is like running the gauntlet. A simple task, like mowing the lawn, popping the milk bottles out for the milkman, taking refuse out or a crafty smoke in the lane with no name can be fraught with obstacles.