Thursday, 20 October 2016


On Tuesday CJ, Jo and I went to Wales; to a place that has been special to me since my childhood; to a place that I used to go in my late teens to escape from the world. 

I first went to the Glyn Valley as a toddler. I remember two holidays in Glyn Ceiriog when I was very young - one in a house we rented and one in my Uncle's caravan - and my brother recalls one. As his memory of these things is invariably more accurate than mine it seems that the caravan holiday was when I was older because my brother recalls that holiday. Nevertheless as I only have one picture of me and my Uncle's caravan that's the one you're getting! Where it was actually taken is anyone's guess. My mother's brother is on the left and my Dad is holding me.

About then and on many visits to the valley after that I became acquainted with the small village of Llanarmon Dyffryn-Ceiriog with its two hotels The Hand and The West Arms

I'm not sure whether I've ever been into The Hand. I first recall staying at The West Arms when I was about 17. I rode out there on The Hypogryph

The Hypogryph was my steed for several years: we went all over The Lake District (where the above photo was taken), Wales and I popped up and down to London after work on a Friday (which astonishes me looking back). 

The West Arms was a wonderful retreat from the 'real world' for me.

On Tuesday we went for lunch and it was like going into a time warp. I walked into a place that has hardly altered (in my memory at least) in over half a century. 

Perhaps one difference was the food. I don't recall the food from the early sixties but I do recall the lunch we had on Tuesday.  I had whole prawn scampi with home made tartare sauce and perfect crisp on the outside and fluffy inside chips. This was not pub grub. 

I hope that one day I will make the journey from the Outer Hebrides to Llanarmon once again and spend some time at The West Arms in the Land of My Fathers.

Tuesday, 18 October 2016

To The Woods

When I first went to live on the Isle of Lewis I thought that I would never get used to living without trees. I'd been brought up in a city but a city with lots and lots of trees. After that I'd lived amongst trees in Cheshire. So when on Saturday night I stayed with friends in Evanton it was a wonderful opportunity to step out of her back garden into the Evanton Community Woodland. Steve and I went for a good walk (thank you again medical team for my new knee) round the woods on Sunday morning accompanied by four paws.

Setting off
"Right you can catch me up!"
Autumn mists
Would you believe mating slugs?
Art in the woods
More art in the woods
Classroom in the woods
Fun in the woods

Thursday, 13 October 2016

Thankful Thursday: Fifteen Years

Scriptor's and my father, Morris Edwards, died 15 years ago today.

In the past I have posted photos of Dad. Today I might post a photo but I thought that I would relay some of my memories of him.  

I can only recall two occasions when Dad got annoyed with me (there were probably lots but if there were he never showed it). One still strikes me as bizarre. I ate anything that was put before me as a child. Until one day at dinner celery appeared.  I remember nothing about how or why celery appeared (I can't imagine that it was a usual food 65 years ago) on the dinner table but it did. I wouldn't eat it.  Dad asked me to leave the table. The fact that it was so unusual can be demonstrated by the fact that I can still recall it.

Another memory is of climbing Moel Fammau as a youngster with Dad. I must have been very young because my brother wasn't with us.  We were descending from the summit when a squall with very strong wind hit us and I was blown off my feet and at danger of being blown down the hillside. Dad did a rugby tackle lunge to catch me and keep me safe. It was a long, wet return home!

Dad was also a very calm person. During the war he was in a reserved occupation so couldn't join the forces. I recall someone saying to him "Ah but you weren't in the war were you?". To which Dad's response was "Being a fireman on the Liverpool Docks with bombs falling all round you wasn't exactly a bundle of laughs." And that was that.

Dad probably never recalled any of those incidents once they had happened. They've stayed with me for well over half a century.

Mum and Dad leaving Childwall Church on their wedding day.

Monday, 10 October 2016

The First Time....and The Last

I have a problem. By inclination I am vegetarian. I do like some meat and I do eat it. I like fish. I can catch a fish, kill it, gut it and cook it. If I do, though, I can't eat it. I much prefer it if someone puts fish on a plate for me. Today I decided to have a frozen breaded fish for dinner. So far as I can recall it's the first time I have ever bought frozen breaded fish. It will certainly be the last.

One would expect from the packaging that what one was purchasing was predominately fish.  Does 54% fish constitute predominantly? It is, marginally, the largest constituent in the package but not what I had expected.

 It was certainly the least appetising form of fish that I have ever had placed on a plate before me.

I ate the 'missing' bit. The rest made its way into the bin: not even the compost heap merited its presence.