Category Archives: Glove

Lost in Malham – full circle

I can’t admit to taking either of these. My good friend Mark Freeman took them.

We go walking when I can get my proverbial together, and it being 15 months since we last walked, managed a time out last weekend. Mark suggested revisiting school trip stamping ground, Malham.

We did the circular route taking in Janet’s Foss, Gordale Scar; Malham Tarn and then back via the Cove.

We had all manner of winter weather, fluffy snow, BITING WIND, sideways hard snow, sun and more wind.

The online route said 2 hours 55 mins assuming you walked up the waterfall at Gordale but I wimped out and we took the 2 mile detour. No idea if that affected the time to the degree it took but 5 hours. Yes, 5!

My pathetic, post baby, perimenopausal body took a beating. I was unable to get out of the car!

Anyway these

It’s hilarious as Malham was home to my first lost glove I think. Or second.

My left foot is still unhappy but plans for a walk next month are afoot. I must lose weight.

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So I had a baby….and lost the blog

Over Christmas 2016 we went to Haslam Park to feed the ducks and this is what we saw:

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It’s so long since I blogged that I’ve forgotten how to put a caption on photos, suffice to say I was never someone who really noted objects….it was always about the garments or shoes….but couldn’t resist the doggy. I’m officially soft since having a child.

Also pink mittens for toddlers are clearly all the rage….not much choice if you have a baby girl. I’m glad I had a little boy – I think the pink overkill would have had me reaching for a Dylon subscription by now!

I captured this at Blackpool Zoo…and I love it.

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It was floating in the penguin pool. Seriously visit Blackpool Zoo. The last time we went was not great. I wasn’t at all pleased, but this time I was heartened, not least by the excellent sea lion demo. The keeper/trainer was fabulous, informative, passionate and encouraging us all to realise that predators are really no threat to animals….we are. He also had an angle on the SeaWorld debacle which came as a total surprise. Despite our global, mutual outrage over Shamu, I had never realised there was a positive side to SeaWorld, at all.

Let’s all strive to be kinder to all living things in 2017. 2016 was a nasty blight on us all. It’s interesting that this piece was written back in the summer….and we were only hal;f way through the year. Pre trump, pre more celebrity deaths, pre countless more attrocities.

I wish you health, love and happiness for 2017.

 

Lost on Moor Park

I’ve walked round Moor Park a number of times since William was born, probably more so than during the preceding 46 years!

It’s a lovely park which skirts a very beautiful avenue, once home to Preston’s super rich, I imagine, yet now home to consultants’ surgeries, Moor Park High School and Preston College’s annexe, The Park School.

I spotted this purple hand….

Purple Hand!

Purple Hand!

The park has always been a happy place for me although when I once had a personal trainer and was learning how to run, it became a source of discomfort….no loos! There are two public conveniences but both locked following increasing incidences of illegal naughties going on….now, however, some genius has installed one of those all encompassing blocks near the bowling greens – relief!

Sadly some lowlife managed to burn the old building down

The burned out bowling green hire cabin

The burned out bowling green hire cabin

 

……..but they have rebuilt and as I say, installed some new pay as you go loos – oh the relief!

They also have one of those Adidas sponsored exercise areas.

On your marks....

On your marks….

 

Work that body....

Work that body….

 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like these areas. They remind me so much of the ones you get on the beaches in Spain…so, of course, remind me of being in Spain. I missed it so much last year, choosing not to fly whilst pregnant, but can’t wait to get back there this year to the lovely villa.

I digress…

Moor Park is a lovely place to walk round, you can play tennis, bowls, take a cycling tour, care of a Council initiative, feed the ducks on the pond…or just have a nice sit down.

There’s also an observatory and it breaks my heart to know that it is no longer in use. I would dream of looking up at the stars from there when I was a child and the minute I became an adult, they shut it down and stopped the public viewings. TYPICAL. Someone get Dara O’Briain and Brian Cox on the case!

There’s a car park at the Preston North End end of the park so no excuses for not giving it a whirl – best in the summer and autumn months!

 

A Christmas loss

Another lost soul

Another lost soul

It’s funny how so many gloves find their way on to the railings of a church. Funnier still how the finders, or maybe the elements, point a finger towards the spire…a kind of godly loss?

This fluffy beauty was on the railings outside English Martyrs Church, just outside town, spotted as we took a post Christmas walk up to the Asia Continental Supermarket on Sedgewick Street.

I’ve never been inside the church but just googled them to see if they had a site – it looks very jolly indeed. Having been brought up CofE, in truth, I’ve been inside very few UK Catholic churches and I’m always astounded by how ornate they are by comparison to their protestant counterparts.

Church decor is something which always makes me question the graven images commandment whenever I’m inside one.  St Walburge’s, also in Preston, is a fine example of fabulous church decor, with its splendid stained glass windows and minstrels gallery, the second highest spire in the country and beautiful stone. I’ve no idea if you can gain access for a peek, sadly its parish is all but non existent and I know, years ago, there was an urgent sense of it having to be saved from disappearing as a church per se but if you can get inside, revel in it.

While I find church interiors often quite beautiful in their over the top design, from a spiritual perspective, there can be none more moving than St Martin’s Church in Martindale, in Cumbria. Its serene simplicity, lack of embellishment and ancient design make it an idyllic place to sit quietly and contemplate life’s greater questions.

All that said, as a lapsed church-goer (understatement), for many, many years I ceased going inside churches, as a tourist, after being in Crete one Easter. We took an excursion on Good Friday to a village church, where the presence of so many tourists made it impossible for actual worshippers to attend their own service inside their own local church. I was ashamed to be there, merely to gawp at the interior,when people were trying to get in for more legitimate reasons on the most important day of their religious year.

So I stopped going inside. I missed the Dome of the Rock when I was in Jerusalem, have missed countless divine settings in Europe and chosen to stand outside instead. But I’m going back inside more of them, just choosing my timings and being more considerate, I hope.

On a lighter note, I feel compelled to discuss the Asia Continental – I have to say I love it, although spend far too much on sacks of spices which will go off long before they are used. It’s a wonderful place to find most of your foreign goodies, not just Asian cuisine.

There’s also a really good fresh fruit and veg section with a good range of everything from the pedestrian to the exotic, but best of all, for us, if you’re someone who makes jams or chutneys, you can buy stuff by the crate!

Perfect for when you’re whipping up a batch of Moro’s harissa or Mrs Balbir Singh’s mango chutney – I think it’s her recipe we use (?)!

Lost with the Lord of the Rings!

I’m not a fan myself. I’ve read the first page countless times, I think I even made it to page two once. I set it down as the films came out but having nobody with whom to watch them at the cinema and, having insufficient confidence to go alone, I waited until they hit the small screen or borrowed DVDs.

It was no better then. I could see from the outset that these were films which needed to be watched on a large screen.

Having borrowed the first one off my then boss, @otoolealexandra, I marched into work the following day admitting my defeat and noted that the films were long enough without having to pause them intermittently for Monday night double episodes of Corrie. Alex, bless her, was apoplectic and close to issuing my first written warning.

Their setting and inspiration, however, could not be nearer my heart. There is an arrogance within that rejoices in the fact that more observers than not note that Tolkien was living in the Ribble Valley at the time the books were written.

So this little, lime green, fluffy lost glove was right in the heart of Middle Earth (for all I know this reference might be a Star Trek one, I know I’ve heard folk mention it….but, to be fair, I’m not a fan of either, yet their respected fanbases seem to attract the same people).

My name is Inigo Mantoya, you killed my father, PREPARE TO DIE!

I loved this glove not least for its colour – my favourite shade of green, but also because from this angle it looks like the thumb is concealed underneath the hand of a six fingered man! Ha ha ha ha, which, of course, leads me to recall a great book and one of my favourite films, screened, by chance, this last Saturday, The Princess Bride. A star studded cast, it never ceases to amaze me how few of my closest friends have seen it, yet, to me, it’s probably my own personal Python! (at this point should I mention I have never seen a Python film?)

The quotes come thick and fast from “Never start a land war in Asia” to the best, “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die”. Why has Mandy Patinkin not had more huge roles….he is fabulous.

Anyway to return to the glove….it was not owned by the six fingered man..

…..there is no concealed thumb!

And the walk, whence this bright loss was spotted…..well that took place last weekend, when it snowed throughout, when stopping for sandwiches seemed like a good idea but resulted in my fearing I’d never feel my fingers again. Note to self…buy mittens, gloves don’t cut it. It was a walk which started in a layby beyond Hurst Green, backed up on itself and took us through the grounds of Stonyhurst (setting for Three Men and a Little Lady school scene) and up on to Longridge Fell. It would be such a pretty walk without doubt in the Spring and Summer, but the view was marred by low lying snow clouds.

From Stonyhurst we walked up Kemple End and through the woodland on Longridge Fell, dropping back through Green Thorn, Deer House Wood, over Sandy Bridge and back into Hurst Green.

7 miles, 4 hours. Fabulous.

Lost in a Yorkshire getaway!

Let me in....

My friend Kath went away just before Christmas, with a few friends, for a long weekend in York although how she managed to get anything done is beyond me. York, it would seem, is littered with the lost.

Artistic placement

I love it when folk place lost stuff in obvious places so that the owner will see it. That said, a reader of the lost socks laundromat messaged me via Facebook recently to tell me she collects lost stuff, so I consider myself fortunate to get any shots at all.

Her approach is much worthier! I just leave the detritus where I see it!

Another fan favourited the lost trainer from my last post on my flickrstream! FAB.

A pair, now that's rare

I’ve not been to York for a long time. I think the last time was to negotiate a reciprocal arrangement with Best Western to promote the last company for whom I worked in exchange for using their venues where we could. It seemed like a great idea on paper but I seem to recall our getting few, if any, referrals.

My only other recollection of time out in York was it taking far less time to drive there than I’d ever imagined only to then spend an eternity trying to find somewhere to park….am guessing the train is the answer!

 

 

Lost Gloves – anyone know where this is?

 

Where the hell was this? And when?

I made a concerted effort, mentally, earlier this week to start maintaining the lost socks blog as I’ve been more than remiss these past few months.

So I find it totally annoying to present these photographs and have absolutely no recollection where they were taken.

If any of my walking friends can recall (fat chance) then please do enlighten me.

My appalling memory has started to cause me concern. I’ve always had the classic elephant’s memory – I never forget.

Only yesterday I had lunch with a former colleague of 14 years ago and mentioned that whenever I see Errol Brown I think of her, similarly George Michael…she’d been mad about both in her youth and I vividly recall her describing her utter disbelief the day she found out George was gay!

She was amazed by my memory. Yet, in my defence, I have to say that while I can name probably all 120 girls in my year at school in 1980, I can’t remember the name of someone to whom I was introduced yesterday…and, worse still, no disrespect girls, but that person I met yesterday might be someone who would hire me tomorrow!

Is it just me or does everyone hit 40 and life thereafter is just not the same? You forget everything and have to make lists, ALL the time. You can’t shift half a stone yet at 39 you drop could drop it in a week.

Curious.